And the Sky was Dark
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: A trip to examine a puzzling world, lands Sheppard’s team in an underworld city, and the inhabitants do not want them to leave. With serious injuries, they try to stay alive and find a way back home.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: And the Sky was Dark  
Author: Kodiakbear  
Series/Status: Complete  
Rating: T  
Warning: None  
Summary: A trip to examine a puzzling world, lands Sheppard's team in an underworld city, and the inhabitants do not want them to leave. With serious injuries, they try to stay alive and find a way back home.  
AN: This story is complete, and as the chapters are done with final edits and polishing, they'll be posted. Thank you Linzi, Gaffer and Shelly for beta help and input!  
**

**And the Sky was Dark  
By Kodiakbear**

_The heavens did weep,  
The stars did cry,  
For the world was lost,  
And the sky was dark_

**Chapter One**

The wraith were a parasite, a pest – the scourge of the Pegasus galaxy, and when you find your home infested with pests, there are two courses of action. You attempt to eradicate the pests, or you leave. Sheppard knew that the Ancients had left. Packed up, and without even a wave goodbye to their progeny, left the galaxy in the hands of a killing machine with the singular purpose of maintaining a human herd at the minimum level of sustenance.

In the past year and a half, Sheppard's team had come close to dying at the hands of the wraith. The entire city of Atlantis was almost wiped out, although the wraith hadn't meant to just destroy – they wanted Earth. Food to last for a very long time. And John wasn't willing to let them have it. The Wraith were awake, and there were too many mouths to feed for what the dinner plate had to offer. It was a problem, and many worlds were paying the price, something that Sheppard had a lot of guilt issues over.

He wanted to eradicate the Wraith more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his life. But, he also wanted to stay alive, and he wanted his friends to live. Atlantis had the capabilities, but it lacked the power. They needed ZPM's, and even the arrival of the Daedalus with one hadn't been enough. It helped, but it was never enough. They needed at least one more, and a fully charged one would be nice.

In search of their version of El Dorado's gold, this ZPM, they continued to gate to worlds in hope of finding that elusive treasure. And they continued to come up empty. Every time. If they were lucky, they got home in one piece; sometimes, they weren't so lucky. This was looking like it'd be one of those not-so-lucky times.

The initial MALP had reported a world with anomalous readings. McKay had tried to make sense of it, but in the end had thrown the print-outs across his lab, crumpling each individual sheet in disgust before tossing it, and saying he was done. Apparently physics had bypassed P4X-567.

John wasn't an astrophysicist, but he'd looked at the crumpled sheets, and he'd had to admit, something was hinky with the planet. The atmosphere came back with ninety percent methane, yet the video footage showed flourishing plant life. The sample they'd collected and then tested in the lab indicated typical photosynthesis taking place, with appropriate levels of oxygen and carbon dioxide.

Then there were the mineral readings. According to the MALP, P4X-567, was solid gold. Unfortunately for all the Yukon Cornelius's, the samples taken indicated it was everything else but gold. A mixture of common elements; iron, copper, tin, other trace minerals, but then there was something else. It was the something else that Rodney had figured out was the problem. Every time instruments got near it, they went ballistic. John thought they either wanted to have a love affair with the element, or the machines were begging for their lives.

Needing more information, Elizabeth had assigned John's team the task. Rodney looked equal parts intrigued and annoyed. Ronon and Teyla merely seemed interested. It wasn't a world either was familiar with. Because of the problems with the mineral, it wasn't safe to take the Jumper. Because of the conflicting atmospheric reports, they opted to wear haz-mat suits. And if John had wanted to say 'because of all the above, he really had a bad feeling about this', who could blame him?

Rodney had built what he hoped was a portable sensor that would give them concrete information. When they got there, the little machine that could, did. The atmosphere wasn't ninety percent methane, but with a slightly higher content of nitrogen, it still clocked in as safe for the little humans, and with sufficient oxygen to keep them alive. They discarded the suits by the gate to be picked up later. If they tried to maintain strenuous activity, they'd have problems, but otherwise it was enough. John debated on running some wind sprints, thinking of the high-altitude training possibilities on this planet, but one look at McKay's already heaving chest, and he'd decided he did want to stay alive another day.

They'd set out to explore, sticking together and using Rodney's rigged machine, following a power trail that they all knew might not even exist. After a few hours, and a stop to rest, one in which Rodney insisted be at least thirty minutes (little did McKay know, John would've given him up to an hour), they found a clearing in the forest. The grass here was skimpier, and looked sick, compared to the lushness of the other growth. With an excited exclamation, Rodney pointed, "And X marks the spot," he said with relished glee.

"All right," Sheppard said, sliding his pack to the ground. "Take it easy, Blackbeard." John stared skeptically at the grass, not looking forward to the physical labor ahead. "So, now we dig."

Everyone had pulled their portable shovel, and started digging like automatons. They had been at it for a couple of hours, and were making decent progress. The power reading was getting stronger as they reduced the amount of mineral between Rodney's sensor gizmo and the power source, but it was when Ronon and McKay were taking a break that the trouble started.

"Did you hear that?" Sheppard asked, his shovel freezing in place. He'd thrust downward, and when he'd done so, a muffled crack had echoed upward.

Teyla shook her head, puzzled. "Hear what?"

"I thought I heard a -" John's words were cut off as the ground underneath his feet gave way. He didn't even have time to shout a warning as he felt the soft cave-in sensation under his feet, and the ground fell away. The last thing he was aware of was hitting the ground, then it all went black.

When Sheppard regained consciousness, he was amazed to find his body was still in one piece. He stayed still trying to assess his injuries. No compound fractures or broken bones. But, he had a massive headache, and everything around him was dark.

"Teyla?" he called, coughing from the dust in his lungs. John tried to remember what'd happened. They'd been shoveling dirt – shit! They'd fallen through something. But if they'd fallen, where was Teyla? There wasn't an answer, which freaked him out even more. Teyla had been close. John couldn't see how she would've been able to avoid falling along with him, which meant she was probably unconscious.

Sheppard heard sounds from above, and felt debris fall against his shoulders and head. When the familiar voice shouted from somewhere above, he felt a surge of hope.

"Give me some more rope!" bellowed McKay.

"Rodney!" John shouted. "Down here!"

He heard some muffled curses which suddenly ratcheted into high-pitched yelps and a lower baritone rumble hollering, before the ground around him shook from what had to be impacts of at least one body, but from the staggered feel, Sheppard was surer that it'd been two. Pieces of larger debris had fallen on him, again, and he started brushing it off, feeling the splintered wood from what had obviously been some kind of roof. They must be in an underground facility, but what? And now it sounded like Rodney and most likely Ronon, as well, had fallen.

"Rodney?" he tried again. Why couldn't he see? If they'd broken through an old wooden roof, wouldn't the light from above be filtering down?

No response to his call. If Rodney and Ronon had fallen, then they were now in the same condition as Teyla. John fought against what was beginning to seem as insurmountable odds. "Get a hold of yourself, John," he whispered to himself. He could handle this.

Carefully getting on his hands and knees and trying not to throw up from the lurch in his stomach when he moved, Sheppard began inching towards the area where he was sure one of his team had fallen. His hands scraped over piles of debris, and his knees hurt each time he came down on something bulky, or sharp. When his hands did clear the debris, the floor underneath felt smooth, like concrete.

Finally, he touched a leg. Carefully, John ran his hands upward, trying to figure out who it was he'd found. Right away, he knew it wasn't Teyla, and as he moved farther and touched the torso, he knew it wasn't Ronon. That left Rodney. Ronon was longer and bigger, while McKay was shorter and wider. "Rodney," he called again, desperately wanting to get a reply. "Come on, don't do this to me!"

But the physicist was out, and when John's hand moved around to the back of McKay's head, he felt warm wetness spreading, fast. Shit shit shit. This was bad. Struggling because he couldn't see, Sheppard pulled out a bandage from his vest, and clumsily lifted Rodney's head, praying there weren't any spinal injuries. It was either get the bleeding stopped, or risk McKay being paralyzed. Not much of a choice, and John wasn't a medic.

Going with what his gut told him was the greater risk, he managed to get the bandage wrapped around Rodney's head and tied it off. John knew it wouldn't win any awards for neatness. But, then again, it didn't have to look good, as long as it did the job. He rested a hand against McKay's chest, and fumbled for his wrist to check for a pulse. Everything was there, if a little off. Pulse was faster than he would've liked, breathing, the same, but better than nothing. Taking a deep breath, John figured all things considered, it would do for now.

That left Ronon and Teyla, and if Teyla had fallen with John, then Ronon had been the second impact after Rodney. He was pretty certain of it, even more so because he hadn't heard a thing from above, and if Ronon or Teyla had been up there, they would've let him know. If he was right, and they'd fallen through an old roof, then how far did they fall? Ronon and Rodney had apparently tried to mount a rescue, and they must have unintentionally managed to stand on a spot where the same roof extended, and their weight had collapsed it further, taking them down with it.

Which meant they were all four very screwed right now.

He started moving away from Rodney, and towards where he'd felt the floor shake from the second impact. He didn't think Ronon would be far from where Rodney had fallen, at least he hoped not. But John hadn't gone far before he lost the battle with his queasy stomach, and heaved breakfast on to the debris covered ground. He tried not to curse as he felt the dampening on his knees as fluid ran downhill. God. This was turning into a completely sucky day.

"Colonel?" Teyla's voice was shaky, but near.

It was quite literally the sweetest sound he could ever imagine hearing, penetrating his isolation and fear. John tried not to show his tangible relief. "Teyla?" he croaked in the direction her voice had come from. "I can't see," he added. "It's dark." Please say it's dark…he needed to know that it wasn't what he feared the most.

"Colonel…John," her husky tones were closer, and John could pick out the sounds of her moving closer. "There is some weak light."

She sounded worried, and he understood. She had a right to be. It was what he'd tried to deny while he was crawling around. The darkness was too complete, and deep down, he'd known that. If the roof had caved, it would've left an opening to allow light through. "I'm blind," he faced the truth. "Probably a head injury. Rodney's over there, hurt bad, do you see Ronon?" He stated the facts and tried to shove the emotional turmoil as far away as possible. They had problems a lot worse to deal with other than his blindness right now.

Her touch caused him to jump. Of course, he hadn't seen her coming. "Come with me," she instructed softly. "Ronon's this way. Sit with him, and I will bring Rodney over so that we are all together."

Sheppard didn't want to admit how relieved he was to turn over the responsibility of tending to the others. But that fall – "Are you hurt?" he pressed. She had to be.

The hesitation answered for her. "How bad?" he asked, lowering his voice. John knew their chances of getting out of this alive were spiraling downward.

"I cannot feel my left arm." Her grip on his own arm tightened. "I believe it is either broken or dislocated."

They say the darkness always comes before the dawn, but Sheppard knew sunset hadn't arrived yet, and things were looking pretty dark. Maybe if Ronon could recover enough, he could go for help? He had to hold on to something to give them hope. John tripped, and started to fall forward, causing his world to spin painfully. Teyla's grip was bone-deep, and she used her body to keep him upright. "It is not far now," she assured him, while he stopped and panted from the effort that left him sick and tired.

True to her words, she was guiding him to the ground moments later. John tried to ignore the stink that wafted up from his soiled knees. His hands reached for Ronon, and fumbling in the runner's duster, he felt the reassuring rise of Ronon's chest. At least he was still alive. That meant all four of them had survived the fall. "Is he hurt bad?" he asked Teyla, needing her to be his eyes.

"I do not know." John heard rustling and then Ronon groaned. "I believe he's waking," she added before calling to him, "Ronon, you must wake…Ronon!"

"G'way," the deep voice rumbled to John's side, raspy and quieter than usual.

"You can do better than that," Sheppard taunted. He needed the big guy up, and cognizant.

"What happened?" Ronon's voice was stronger, and John heard him pause and swallow a drink of water, which must have come from Teyla…

John sighed. Three of them were awake now, and things were looking better. Not much, but every little bit was something. "We fell," he explained. "Hard, apparently."

A canteen was pushed into his chest, and Teyla guided his hands to it. "Drink, you must keep up your strength."

John wanted to, but right then he wasn't feeling so hot. Afraid that anything he drank would come back up, he settled on taking a small sip, and rinsed his mouth, before spitting to the side. John took another little bit, just to make Teyla feel he was trying. It was all he trusted to stay down.

"Ronon, help me with Rodney," Teyla ordered.

She was taking charge, and Sheppard didn't even care. In fact, just the opposite. He was thankful for it. "Is Ronon okay enough for it?" he did ask. "Any broken bones?" or anything that would keep him from climbing out of here and going for help, is what he really needed to know.

"My leg's broke, Sheppard."

An indrawn hiss of breath to his side, and John knew Teyla hadn't realized, anymore than he had, but seeing how she could see, it probably left her a little more frustrated over it. "Why did you not say anything?" she asked, quietly seething.

"It didn't come up," Ronon replied flatly.

"Colonel Sheppard is blind," she said tightly. "Watch him. I will go retrieve Rodney."

Sheppard winced at her declaration, and heard her move away. He also heard Ronon shift, and knew the runner was now watching him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

John's lips curled into a smirk. "It never came up." Two could play that game.

What happened next took John by surprise. He heard Teyla shout, then the whine of what sounded like a weapon. He felt Ronon lurch beside him, and then another whine, and the runner's heavy torso folded across John's legs. Ronon was out.

Sheppard felt his heart begin to pound. "Who's there!" he snapped. "What do you want?" The feeling of helplessness was horrible and hard, and he tried to shove Ronon off him, but knew it wouldn't be fast enough.

The air moved next to him. John held still. He knew something was there, and he could imagine it studying him. He had visions of a predator focusing on its prey, and had to steel himself not to flinch.

"Gadmere! Something is wrong with this one, also!"

The voice, when it came, was so near, that John pulled back, causing his head to spin again. "We didn't mean to hurt anything, and we don't mean any harm, we fell -" he started to say.

"We won't hurt you," the voice assured. "Just relax."

Easier said then done, because the panic over Ronon being stunned, and probably Teyla, combined with his blindness, and knowing Rodney was seriously hurt, everything was rolling into one big massive panic attack. "No! Just…keep away from me…" If he could just see –

"Hurry, Gadmere, he's becoming fretful!"

Fretful, John thought with amazement. Try two beats away from becoming a crazed lunatic. Suddenly, strong hands seized him on both sides, and John began to struggle. He'd always considered himself a level-headed soldier, but the disorientation of being blinded and injured, and having no one else to depend on, proved too much, and he fought to get loose like a wild animal.

"Stun him! Before he injures himself more," the same voice he'd heard earlier spoke again, and John was pleased to hear the edge of exertion in it. They weren't taking him easily.

"Not with a head injury, you fool – it'll make it worse." The hands tightened and wrestled him to the ground, and John felt his sleeve being pushed up.

"No! You son of a bitch, let go!" he fought, and bucked his hips uselessly. The needle slid into his shoulder with a sharp sting, and still John continued to fight for freedom, but his movements grew slower and clumsier, until they stopped altogether, and John Sheppard didn't fight anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Wow, big response (can you see me grinning)! Just to clarify a little confusion, the story is complete, it's merely going through the beta/edit phase and as the chapters are divided up and gone through the wringer, they'll be making an appearance! Thanks again to gaffer, Linzi and Shelly. I'm driving them crazy, I fear. (see, more sheepish grinning)**  
**

**Chapter 2**

If you'd asked Sheppard which of his senses he'd rather be without, hearing or sight, he would've answered easily. Hearing. Between the two, the fear of being blind was easily the worst. Not being able to see anything around you…it was claustrophobic. Only seeing the blackness. It was heavy, and suffocating, and John had prayed like he never had before, that it wasn't permanent.

So when John woke from whatever those aliens had given him, being greeted by the blackness again scared him down to his soul. Without his eyes, he couldn't do his job. He knew, as much as he knew that day and night existed, that if an accident had caused him to lose his eyesight back on Earth before going on this expedition, it wouldn't have hurt this badly. But now, with all that he knew, and all that he'd seen, the thought of it being taken away caused him a pain so deep that it caused a snarl of hurt in his guts and it wouldn't let go.

He knew his breathing had quickened, and his heart was racing. John tried to force his body to respond, to calm down. He didn't want anyone to know he was awake…yet. Someone had captured them. He wanted to know who, and why.

"If you're trying to fool us into believing you're asleep, then it's a little late for that, my friend."

It caused John to jerk. He hadn't known anyone was there. And once again, he had cause to pray this wasn't permanent. "Who are you?" John didn't turn his head towards the voice. He didn't feel like pretending he could see when it was clear he couldn't. His eyes were open, and all he got was black. Unending blackness.

"My name is Gadmere. I was on the initial rescue team. You and your friends fell down an abandoned air shaft. You're very lucky to be alive."

"Lucky," echoed John. Shoving the self-pity aside, he asked, "The others?"

"The large one, with the…hair, he's recovering from surgery. His leg was broken in two places. He'll make a full recovery, in time."

Sheppard listened for everything in the words, and the tone of the voice. It was confident, slowly enunciated for him, and open. He couldn't sense any duplicity, but without seeing the face… "There are two others," he said, still tense.

"I know," Gadmere replied, amused at John's statement of the obvious. "The female had a significant injury to her arm, and internal bleeding. She, too, is recovering and will be fine. The other, the male, he suffered a fractured skull, and in addition to significant blood loss, there appears to be swelling on his brain. We've called in our best surgeon who will be arriving soon. If anyone can save your friend, this doctor can."

"Rodney," whispered John. "His name is Rodney. You've got to get us to the gate!" he demanded. "Our doctors can save him." At least, he hoped so. The description of the injury sounded dangerous, even for their own technology. But the thought of being at these aliens' medical mercy, almost caused him to come undone.

He could imagine them blundering around in Rodney's brain, and accidentally giving him a lobotomy. John didn't have any basis for believing they were advanced enough to do any good for McKay, and from what he'd seen of other worlds, he had every reason to believe they were only a step above others, like the Genii and the Hoffans.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. You four are now part of the Nokomis people. Once you are here, you must stay." Gadmere responded without compunction. "As for you, the doctor will review your case as well, and see if anything can be done for the blindness that has resulted from your head injury. I'm afraid, it too, was also severe. You may find there is some weakness, especially on your right side. There is some suspected brain damage from the blow to your head from the fall."

The panic was welling up again, deep inside, and it gripped relentlessly. John tried to breathe, in and out, slowly. The bed he was on felt soft, and alluring, and he willed himself to relax into it and just – calm - down. He was scared. John Sheppard was scared like a little boy. If anyone had asked him, he would've denied it to the end, but no one was asking, and he didn't have to fool himself. Adrift in a world without anyone he knew, blinded, injured, and no one to trust, and now being told that Rodney might not make it… "Can I see him?" he asked, before he cringed. See him. He couldn't. But he could sit with Rodney.

"What's you're name?" Gadmere asked suddenly. "It's not going to work if I keep having to refer to you as 'the other male'."

"John," he answered. The general rule in situations like this, well, okay, this was a first, but generally, you didn't give unknown aliens all your information. With that said, a first name wouldn't hurt. "My name is John. And I want to sit with Rodney." The thought of McKay dying alone made him feel queasy all over again. He also felt that maybe if he were there, next to Rodney, then McKay wouldn't die. John tried to fight against the rage that whispered at him, that if he wasn't blind he could do something, and get them back home and into the hands of Beckett and his staff.

A hand touched his shoulder, and John jerked away from it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," apologized Gadmere. "Rest now, and I will talk to your doctor and see about visiting your friends."

John wanted to argue, but the ache in his head that had been only a dull reminder had risen to screeching intensity. The steel in Gadmere's words was plain even for the blind to see, and as much as he felt the desperate need to be near Rodney, or Ronon and Teyla, he also felt another need. To fall back into a world where he didn't have to confront his own condition and could escape the pain thumping like drums in his skull. Sheppard nodded his head tiredly. Rest. He would do it, for now. Close his eyes and pretend the darkness was normal. He could do that. Maybe just for a little while…

OoO

The next day passed in a hazy blur for John. He would wander in and out of consciousness, always tired, and demanding to see the other members of his team. Gadmere was often present with other medical staff. Through the confusion that centered in his mind, he did get that the man was some kind of administrator for the city.

The day after that, he woke up sweaty and forgot he couldn't see. A woman tried to calm him, but all John could do was ask for Rodney. Soon, Gadmere was next to him, soothing and trying to explain that he'd been hurt in a fall, and he needed to rest in order to see his friends. Sheppard didn't want to rest, he wanted to see Rodney, and where were Teyla and Ronon? He started to get out of bed, convinced these people were keeping him purposefully blind, but arms wrestled him back to the bed, and he felt the stab of a needle. There was a moment afterwards where the effects of the sedative hadn't fully kicked in, and John was still fighting, blind and frantic, but then everything slid away from him again.

When he next became aware, John tried harder to fight off the panic, not wanting to be drugged into compliance. He felt a strong need to get up, and find his team, and get the hell out of Dodge, but it's pretty hard to do when you can't even see where the exit is. This time, he found a more rational state, and tried to hold on to it. John shifted in the bed, the sheets rubbing together, and apparently alerted the administrator that he was awake.

"I'm sorry, John. Your condition worsened and we had to sedate you," Gadmere spoke from somewhere to John's right.

To say it was unnerving to hear someone talk, when you didn't even know they were there, was an understatement. Every time it kept happening, it made John realize just how much of a hindrance not being able to see truly was. Actually, hindrance wasn't quite the word he was looking for. Vulnerability was a more apt description. "My friends?" he asked hoarsely. It's all he wanted right now, was to talk to them, to know they were really alive and hadn't died or been killed.

"The one that calls himself Ronon," Gadmere chuckled to himself before continuing, "he's quite vocal about seeing you. The attending doctor will not let him move for fear of the bone slipping and becoming misaligned. I'm told the surgery to correct the breaks was more difficult than anticipated."

"But he's okay?" pressed John. "He'll heal?"

"Oh, yes," Gadmere assured him. "Your other friend, the woman, she is still being kept sedated. The initial operation missed a second injury, and it took another surgery to correct. Doctor Groton believes he will attempt to rouse her tomorrow. She needs time to heal, John, just as all of you do."

Sheppard noticed Gadmere didn't mention McKay. "And the other, Rodney?" he asked, holding his breath. John remembered not wanting McKay to die alone, and that he'd been hurt badly, but beyond that, his own mind was a jumbled mess.

The administrator was silent, and John turned his head in the direction the voice had been coming from, hoping the man was still there. "Just tell me," he said, needing to know. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

There was a sound like a harrumph, and then Gadmere admitted, "He's not doing very well, John. Doctor Groton and Doctor Calicut are doing their best, but the swelling around his brain has grown serious."

"I want to see my friends," he demanded. John didn't want to hear anymore excuses. He needed to see…crap…touch, hear…anything to have proof that they still lived. It was too easy to believe the worst in his dark world.

Gadmere didn't reply for a few minutes, and just as John was about to reiterate his wants, the administrator said, "Very well, but know this, it's not a good idea in your condition, and we are not responsible for any setbacks this causes."

The edge of hysterical laughter threatened to spill out. Setbacks? Was the guy serious? John was blind, barely able to stay awake from one minute to the next, while the rest of his team languished in God knows what kind of state, and Gadmere was pulling a CYA maneuver? "It's a risk I'll have to take," John offered wryly.

Sheppard listened as the administrator stood, trying to imagine what the clothing looked like as it ruffled together like nylon. He'd wanted to ask what the room looked like, the furniture, the people…everything, because none of this was familiar, and he was afraid that letting his imagination make connections to what he did know, was a dangerous game to fall into here. This wasn't his world, and these weren't his people.

"I'll be back with a wheelchair," Gadmere announced.

The administrator was true to his word, and with more effort than John had counted on, he was soon sitting up. For the first time, he realized the impact of what had happened. Not his injuries so much as their situation. His clothes were gone, gear, everything. He was wearing something that felt a lot like the scrubs from home. The cloth was thin, and he shivered in the chair. John knew they were underground, and he wondered if the entire city was this cool, or if it was just this building.

The trip to Ronon seemed to take forever, but John concentrated on memorizing the path. A right out of his room, straight ahead to the count of twenty, then a left, another twenty count and another right.

"Here we are." Gadmere wheeled him to a stop and John felt the chair shake slightly as the man did something to the wheels. Probably locking mechanisms.

John didn't hear the man move away, and guessing that Gadmere was still there, he said over his shoulder, "Can we have some privacy?"

"Oh." The administrator sounded flustered. "Certainly. We are only trying to help you and your friends, John," he repeated. "I'll return in twenty minutes."

He listened for fading footsteps, and was pretty sure when Gadmere was gone. It also sounded like the man had pulled a door shut behind him. At least, John hoped he had. Leaning forward, he reached out with a trembling hand, finding the blanket, and then Ronon's hand. His right side was weak, as Gadmere had warned him, but he shook the runner, trying to rouse him. "Ronon," he whispered.

Silence. A hot flood of emotion threatened to erupt, and John shoved it savagely down. It wasn't Ronon's fault that when John finally got a chance to see him, the man was asleep. But, God, the choking fear that what if this wasn't Ronon had snuck in his mind, without invitation, and now he couldn't stop wondering. Using his hands as eyes, John began to search upward. The stupid chair refused to move, and John slid forward, reaching with his left hand to steady himself by holding on to the bed, while exploring with his right. When he got to Ronon's head, he breathed out the breath he'd been holding. No one could fake Ronon's hair.

"Sheppard." Ronon's voice was sleepy and irritable. "Why are you holding my head?"

"John," he said, grinning like a fool. "First names only, just to be safe. And am I glad to hear your voice." The confession was uncharacteristic, and John didn't care. It was really, honest to God, Ronon Dex lying in that bed.

So relieved, that he didn't notice he was still practically fondling Dex's hair, when Ronon clasped his own larger hand around John's, and pulled it back. John flushed, embarrassed. This being blind – it took some getting used to. "Sorry, can't see."

"You're still blind?" asked Ronon, his low voice sharpened at the revelation.

"The feeling up your head didn't clue you in?" retorted John. "Or the fact that I'm probably staring over you right now?"

It came out pissier than he'd intended, but as screwed up as John's emotions were right now, he didn't need for Ronon to do something sappy and stupid like saying he was sorry. Course, John should've known better. This was Ronon, after all.

"Huh. That sucks."

John dropped back into his chair, only stumbling a little. "Yeah," he agreed whole heartedly. "You've got no idea."

There was an awkward pause before Ronon grunted and John heard the sound of a fist smacking into the bed. "What the hell did they do to my leg?" the runner finally ground out.

"I don't know," he said primly. "Because I can't see, remember?"

John heard an aggravated…was that a growl? "Did you just growl at me?" he demanded.

"Stop being whiny about your blindness," Ronon said, and it was short-tempered. "It's some kind of…pulley…thing. It hurts, and every time I try to move…it's impossible!" he snarled with even more frustration.

It dawned on him what Ronon was describing. Traction. They'd rigged his leg up in a traction device. "It's to keep you from screwing your leg up, you big baby." Now who was acting like the wimp, John thought with satisfaction.

"John, time's up. You still wanted to see the others," called Gadmere, from behind.

Frowning, John tried to figure out if twenty minutes really had passed already. He'd lost track. "Don't mess with your leg," he warned Ronon. "I'm going to see the others. You stay down and let it heal." John wanted them…no, needed his team, to recover without complications.

"You'll be back, right?" When Dex replied, the nervous edge surprised John.

"Tomorrow," he promised. John needed it as much as the Satedan.

Gadmere pulled him away, and Sheppard wished he could actually see Ronon. It'd been good to talk with him, though, and it was enough for now. John focused again on the path to Teyla's room, and it wasn't far this time. Two doors down. When he asked Gadmere why Teyla and Ronon were so close while he was farther away, the administrator explained that surgical patients were kept on the same ward.

"You and your friend Rodney," Gadmere said, "are kept on the ward for head injuries."

Teyla was sedated, but John held her hand for twenty minutes, in private. He explained that Ronon was nearby, and grumpy. That Rodney wasn't doing so hot, but he was a stubborn geek, and they were the hardest kind to kill. John didn't say anything about himself.

When Gadmere wheeled him to see Rodney, John felt worry latch on and grow with every beep of equipment he couldn't see, and every hum of the machine breathing for McKay. It was evidence that he couldn't deny. He might not have been able to physically see McKay, but he searched with his hands for Rodney's. Once his fingers found McKay's, John curled his around the scientist's, and didn't let go. "You've got to hang on, Rodney," John urged. "They've installed something like a shunt to drain the fluid so the pressure doesn't cook your brain."

Gadmere had explained that before he'd left them alone. The possible complications marched a steady litany through his mind. Infection, blockage, or the easiest of all…it just wouldn't work. Then the swelling would create pressure too great for Rodney's brain to withstand, and he'd die. When Gadmere had been explaining the procedure to John, he'd winced at the description of the incision. If McKay survived, he'd have a hell of a scar on his head. John couldn't stop thinking of Beckett's reaction. The Scot would undoubtedly swear prolifically with a lot of 'bloody this' and 'bloody that'. He wished they were back on Atlantis so he could hear it.

As John sat gripping Rodney's hand, his mind wandered past Beckett's reactions, into what would happen to him. He was blind, and though these Nokomisian doctors weren't Beckett, or any of the ones from Earth, from what he'd heard and had explained, they seemed at a level close to it, nullifying his earlier assessment. Doctor Calicut had explained at one point that the swelling from John's injury had compressed the optical nerve. They had a scary version of a C.A.T. scan machine.

The fear was that the swelling would fade, but the compression would have done permanent damage. And that's when Sheppard began to think maybe being stuck on Nokomis wasn't so bad after all. If they returned to Atlantis and he was still blind, he'd get shipped back to Earth. Medically discharged from the service, and put into a rehabilitation program. Bye bye Rodney McKay, and everyone else he'd come to care about. But mostly Rodney. He'd been the first person John had allowed in since losing Dex and Mitch in Afghanistan. There was nothing back on Earth for him.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the hand gripped in his own, began to tighten back. John lurched in the wheelchair, and squeezed clumsily in response. "Rodney?"

There wasn't a verbal answer, but McKay's fingers definitely tightened. "Someone! Hey…he's squeezing my hand!" John didn't know who was around, but there had to be someone. Damn it! He couldn't even see if Rodney's eyes were open.

Apparently, there had been someone in the room, and John found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Once they realized that McKay was responding to stimuli, Sheppard was first pushed out of the way, and then Gadmere arrived and began to take him back to his own room.

"What…no, wait!" he barked. "I want to stay, come on!" He almost got out of the chair and tried to force his way back, but Gadmere had quickened his pace. John knew if he tried that, it'd end with him sedated and probably losing any trust he'd managed to gain. Frustrated, he tightened his lips together. Son of a bitch.

"It's okay, John," the administrator soothed. "Let the doctor and his staff examine Rodney. Besides, I left you there far too long, and you need to rest."

As Sheppard was helped into his bed, he couldn't help but think just how frustrating being blind was. If someone told him the meal being fed to him was red, he'd believe it. That his clothes were blue, he couldn't tell. That Rodney was being examined. That he needed to rest. He had to trust them, and it ate at John, because he wasn't the trusting sort.

Gadmere settled the blanket up to John's waist, and said he'd send someone in with his dinner. Sheppard wanted to tell Gadmere what he could do with that dinner, and it involved something physically painful and complicated. "Damn it," he swore to himself. He was dependent on everyone, isolated. Even when he was with Ronon, he'd felt alone. Bereft of their faces, he'd relied on memory to do what his eyes couldn't. Yet, his memory wasn't accurate. He pictured faces that were healthy, and normal. John was sure they all had cuts and bruises in addition to the obvious injuries. And John couldn't see them. Not even his own.

Dwelling on it made him grumpy, and Sheppard could feel the irritability settling in for the long haul. He wanted his team here, with him. He also wanted them healthy so everyone could go back to Atlantis. Screw it, he wanted to be back with Rodney, and stay there until McKay woke up. And unicorns were real, and fairy tales did come true.

He'd never been one to feel sorry for himself. He hadn't before when he'd grown up with an ass for a father, and he hadn't when his friends had been killed in Afghanistan. John hadn't even flinched when he'd been given a black mark for trying to save lives. By then, he'd learned that life wasn't fair, and anyone who tried to say different was selling something Mrs. Sheppard's little boy wasn't buying. If you had your life, that was more than a lot of other poor saps had at the end of the day, and he'd learned to take it and be thankful.

But being reduced to this state had made John rethink his beliefs. When he was awake, John found he went through cycles; panic, fear, anger. Tonight he felt the anger, and he felt more tired than usual, out of sorts. There, for a moment, when Rodney had squeezed back -

"The staff is busy so I thought I'd bring you your dinner," Gadmere announced from the doorway. "Are we feeling better, John?"

Sheppard knew from the location of the voice, that Gadmere had walked through the door already talking. The administrator had realized that it…not exactly scared, but startled John when he didn't hear someone approach, and then suddenly they were next to him, either talking or reaching to take his temperature or do an exam. John had tried to hide how much that simple act meant to him, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. All the staff that came to help now called out as they entered his room. He was thankful and angry at the same time because it was yet another reminder of his condition.

"You might want to turn around and leave," cautioned John.

An amused chuckle floated from nearby. "Ah, mad at the world again, are we?"

"Wouldn't you be?" he retorted. "I can't see. I'm stuck relying on strangers, and all my team remains bedridden, one of them might not even make it." John was surprised he was talking so openly, but then again, it'd been days and he was losing any ability to keep himself objective.

He heard Gadmere deposit the tray on a table, before settling into a chair next to his bed. "I suppose so. But, things could always be worse, John. I talked to Doctor Calicut, and he has informed me that your Rodney is showing increasing signs of awareness. Aside from responding to your touch, he's opened his eyes a few times for us. Calicut believes the next couple of days will prove crucial. If he continues to move out of the coma, his odds of recovery rise substantially."

"That's…good," John said lamely. And it was, so why did he feel so useless and hopeless tonight? Did he really want to become one of those people that go around feeling sorry for themselves? John knew the answer was a resounding no, but then, why was he feeling like it now?

"When you're better, would you like to go on a tour of our city?" Gadmere asked.

"When all of my team can go," John corrected. "Then yes, I would." That way the others could see about finding a way back to the surface. John knew he'd have to rely on his team to do the scouting for him, but he'd do what he could. He was trying to do simple things, like feed himself. Wasn't always a success, but the staff got the point that John didn't want nor would accept help in that area. Damn it, he'd been feeding himself since he was a toddler, and Sheppard wasn't about to stop now.

"It's a date, then," the administrator declared. John heard the man lean forward before Gadmere asked, "What's wrong, you look…"

Suddenly, he was leaning over John. Sheppard could tell from the movement of air over him, and the sounds. A cool hand touched his forehead. Gadmere yanked it back, swearing. "Haka! You're burning up!"

John heard footsteps fading, and more shouting, then more people were coming in his room. No wonder he'd felt so tired, and out of it. Oddly, he felt relieved. Fighting against wallowing in self-pity was a constant battle, but he'd never seemed to lose so spectacularly as he'd seem to tonight. If he was coming down with something, that explained a lot. It was hard to find optimism when you felt like hell.

"John, does it hurt anywhere?" Gadmere asked gently.

Hurt anywhere? Yeah, you could say it did. Hurt down deep because he was fighting against the sudden urge to beg these people to go to the gate. John wanted Atlantis, and Beckett, and Elizabeth…and a healthy Rodney. John was tired of trying to be okay around everyone, and not let the Nokomis people see his fears. Trying to keep from telling too much, while wanting nothing more than a rescue team to take them back.

And he was just feeling so damn bad tonight… "My stomach," he finally answered. It did hurt. Why hadn't he noticed how bad before?

"John, the doctor's going to examine you. Don't worry, no one will hurt you."

Gadmere's warning was followed up by the doctor's probing hands on his belly, and his shirt being adjusted. His heart was listened to and he was asked to cough, and breathe, and cough again.

The voices moved away, and then there were murmurs that he couldn't hear clearly. He was so tired…he'd just sleep, for a little while –


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Wow...you guys are amazing, but can we say 'performance anxiety'? Yikes! (but I'll try to keep my mental issues under guard and keep updating fast, deal?)Thanks again to Linzi and gaffer and Shelly, as always, for beta, input and a shoulder to whine my fears upon!

**Chapter 3**

The next two days passed in a confusion of fevered dreams, and when they broke, it left John weak and wrung out. He uncurled from the ball he'd slept in, and blinked at the darkness that never changed whether his eyes were open or shut. Sometimes, if he turned just right, he thought he saw a lighter shade of black in his peripheral vision.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Calicut had already explained that it might happen, he would've shouted for someone. Instead, John knew it was a sign the swelling was going down, easing the compression. A good sign, but the doctor had warned him not to get too excited if and when it happened. Ha. Seeing that edge of gray had made him feel like a kid on his first Ferris Wheel ride. Giddy at the thought this might not be permanent.

"You're back with us," exclaimed Gadmere from John's doorway.

"I never left," John answered, his voice tinged with irony. "What happened?"

Footsteps echoed around Sheppard's bed. "I'm afraid you caught a childhood disease, very common in our children and not dangerous, as I've assured your friends -"

Friends? "Rodney?"

A chair crinkled under the weight of Gadmere's body as he sat, and the nylon-like pants rubbed together. "He came out of his coma the first day of your illness, that would be the day before yesterday, and has made remarkable improvements. Today he is quite animated."

Animated, that was a new one. John had to give it to Gadmere, he was definitely a politician. "Teyla?" He knew Ronon had been awake, but Teyla had still been sedated.

"She is doing well. Doctor Groton is having her walk today, to begin the healing process. She is weak, and worries over the rest of you."

That was the understatement of the year. Teyla had always seemed to take a mother hen-ish role towards the team. Pushing food on them, did you get any sleep, and all sorts of annoying behavior that thankfully had yet to involve toothbrushes. There was that time she'd tucked him in, but they'd both agreed never to mention it, ever. He'd been sick on a mission, she'd been worried. John had even admitted it'd kind of felt nice. She'd given him a lopsided grin, and told him to not get ill again. He had wondered how much of her hovering stemmed from the losses she'd suffered repeatedly as a child, but had decided to leave the psychology to Heightmeyer.

And now, it hadn't just been him, but his entire team. If you're going to do something, don't do it half-assed. He was pretty sure that saying wasn't meant for this kind of situation. John turned towards Gadmere, hating the fact that whenever he tried to look at someone, he could only guess if he was actually staring at them. He wasn't going to ask and go through 'a little to the left, down…just a hair to the right, yes' every time he wanted to make eye contact.

"I want to see them," he said. It wasn't quite a demand, like before, because these people's actions had lulled him…a little. Didn't mean he wasn't still freaking out over the situation they were in, it was just that he wasn't expecting to be tortured or beaten, or anything else equally bad, yet.

"You're weak, John, it's not a good idea."

He rolled his eyes. "Nothing I do is ever a good idea, just get me a chair. I promise I won't sue you for any damages."

If he'd been able to see, and he couldn't, but if he COULD, he was pretty sure Gadmere was looking a little confused. Despite still staring at what was a black curtain, now dotted in lighter shades at the corners, John was feeling hopeful. Rodney and Teyla were awake. Progress, no matter how small it may seem, was still progress.

"I see," Gadmere replied stiffly. "Very well, but for a short time only. I assume you will want to visit Ronon, also?"

John inclined his head Gadmere's way. "That would be…lovely," he grinned.

The administrator sighed, but told him he'd send someone with a wheelchair. Sheppard almost told him if they were too much of a bother they could send him and his team back to the gate, but Gadmere had already left. It was a battle he was going to take on again, now that everyone was slowly recovering. Becoming a member of the Nokomis people wasn't in Sheppard's Top Ten List of Things to Accomplish Before I Die.

It wasn't too long before a woman staff member who introduced herself as Tamar knocked on his door, calling out that his transport had arrived. He smiled warmly in her direction and started to sit. John was surprised to find his muscles quivered and some of them refused to do what he told them to do. Glaring inwardly at what he imagined his legs were doing, he felt Tamar next to him. She took his arm, helping him sit.

"Some weakness is to be expected, John," she reminded him softly. "Let me help you."

He reluctantly returned her grip. This sucked, but then again, John was pretty sure he'd already said that. She helped him stand, and take the few steps to the chair. The move left him sweating like a kid having done loops around his parents. He let out a shaky breath and asked, "Where are my sugar smacks?" He was so weak he could barely keep upright in the chair.

"What?" she stuttered behind him.

John shook his head. Cultural references were only fun when it was Teyla or Ronon being needled. He waved it off, and said, "I'm ready."

Tamar wheeled him to Rodney first, and he counted that McKay was only ten seconds down from his own room. John heard sounds that let him know he wasn't alone with McKay. There were scratching sounds of someone writing on a chart, and murmurs from staff talking together.

"Sheppard!" Rodney's voice was stronger than he'd hoped for, and surprised. And really, John was pretty sure he was equally shocked. Gadmere had said McKay was 'animated' but it was still…indefinable…to hear him sound that good, with John's only memories being bandaging McKay's head to try and keep Humpty Dumpty together, and then holding his hand when he was comatose.

"Rodney," John said in a way that said everything.

Tamar pushed his wheelchair forward to what John figured was next to McKay's bed, and then locked the wheels. Before leaving, she touched his shoulder briefly and said that she'd be back to get him later.

Just to test his theory of where she'd placed him, John stuck his foot out. Yep, bed frame. John leaned forward and whispered out the side of his mouth, "I'm John and you're Rodney."

Sheppard listened as the silence stretched, and then finally Rodney repeated very slowly, "I'm Rodney" then added, "and you're John." More silence. "Didn't you say I was the one with brain damage?" Rodney asked with a perplexed edge, and from the change in McKay's voice, he was pretty sure the question had been directed to someone else in the room.

John's mouth tightened. "Rodney, did you know I actually worried over you? Just, stick to first names, okay?" He hissed the last part, trying to keep it between the two of them.

"Yes, well, you should've. I was apparently hovering close to death," replied McKay. "And why first names only, it's not like they can type Sheppard into a central computer and draw up your life story."

"We – just," John fumbled. "Humor me, okay? Humor the one that's in charge of keeping you alive."

"Is that something you really want to take credit for right now?" Rodney asked, the sarcasm lacing through the words. "Because I've got an incredibly large headache, and things are a little fuzzy about how we got here, and I'm pretty sure I covered the 'almost dying' thing."

John shook his head, telling himself he should've seen Ronon first. Or Teyla. "You told me to dig there. 'X marks the spot', remember?"

"Really? I don't remember," McKay replied too quickly. "They say some memory loss is normal."

"Convenient," John replied. "Look, how are you, really, because we've got to -" he trailed off. Narrowing his eyes towards McKay, he leaned even more forward, and almost tipped out of the chair. "How many of them are in here?" he whispered.

"Three. And I know what you're going to say. Normally, I would agree with you, but for now don't you think maybe we should just –"

"No," interrupted John. He didn't add that as soon as they could move, he wanted to find a way out of here. Even as quiet as he was trying to be, John knew the staff in McKay's room could be listening in. There was silence again. Sheppard wondered if McKay knew how much he hated that. Without talking, he had no way of knowing what Rodney was thinking.

Then again, he should've known McKay wouldn't be quiet for long. "So, how are you?" Rodney asked with an edge of awkwardness.

"I'm blind, Rodney. Just go ahead and get it out, because you're probably the last person I'd expect hand-holding from," John said emphatically. He wasn't going to beat around the bush with McKay. That'd never been their relationship, and he wasn't going to let it be now.

Surprisingly, John heard Rodney snort. "Hand-holding is not a sport I practice." McKay coughed self-consciously before continuing. "For once, the timing in my life is good. This hair-cut I've got is something you'd never let me live down."

"They cut your hair?" No shit, John, of course they cut his hair. The better to drill holes in skulls with, or cut, or whatever they'd done to McKay. And he'd sat here with no clue. Did Rodney have bandages on his head? John wanted to know what McKay looked like, but then, almost as much, was glad he didn't know.

"Yes, they did." The disgust was tangible. "And in a much larger circumference than I feel was necessary, but their doctor stares at me every time I bring it up. Do you know how long it'll take to grow back? Weeks, months – and I didn't bring any hats." Rodney snapped a finger, and the familiarity of the sound made John smile. "You've got hats, I want one when we get back -"

"Rodney, when we get home, I'll give you a hat," John cut him off before he said anything. "Because home is a long ways away right now." He emphasized long ways and hoped Rodney would clue in.

"Right," McKay agreed slowly. "Long ways. So. How are you, aside from the blind issue? They told me you caught their version of the chicken pox, which, oddly enough, doesn't surprise me."

John relaxed into the chair. He'd got it. Of course he would. It was Rodney, after all. He tended to ramble but he wasn't stupid. "Better now," John declared. "Much better." He decided to ignore the dig at his maturity.

They fell into small talk until the doctor said Rodney needed to rest. John could tell by the slight tremors in McKay's voice that he wasn't as strong as he'd sounded at first, and was still recovering. Anyway, Sheppard still had to visit with Ronon and Teyla. He told Rodney he'd talk with him later and then Tamar wheeled him out, taking him next to Teyla's room.

"John?" Teyla called. Tamar had announced they'd arrived at her room, and she kept going forward for a few seconds before stopping and locking the wheels, again.

"Hi, Teyla," he smiled. "Gadmere tells me you're recovering."

There was the sound of sheets shifting, and then his chin was in her warm hands as she lifted his face. John covered her hands with his own, and pulled them away gently. "I'm still blind."

He sensed her pull away. "I see," said Teyla evenly. "John -"

"Are we alone?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"First names only, don't give out any information, at least keep as much of it to yourself as possible. This Gadmere, he seems honest enough, but you don't stay alive by trusting everyone who comes across as nice," he warned. "Priority is getting back on our feet. Then, we find a way home."

"Ronon will not be on his feet for at least another four weeks," Teyla said quickly. "And this Gadmere, he has told me we are not to ever leave this place."

John smiled. "And we always listen to what the nice aliens tell us?"

"Will…they not be looking for us?" Teyla stumbled, almost saying Atlantis.

"They would've started days ago," John agreed. "But seeing how we're still here, and they're not, my guess is these Nokomisians did something to hide where we fell through."

There were a lot of questions John wanted answers to, but now that he was here with Teyla, he wanted to know the little things that in the long run, didn't amount to anything, but it was driving him crazy not knowing. He leaned forward. "What does it look like here? The people? This place, describe it for me." John didn't say please. He just needed to know something, and he couldn't bring himself to ask it of Rodney, or Ronon.

"It is not like home," she began. Once she started, she didn't hesitate. She described austere walls made out of metal, with low-lighted ceilings and a people that were so pale as to shine. They were a thin, spindly, race with long hair but meticulous uniforms and manners. And Teyla did not think they would let them leave easily.

"Are you -" he trailed off. He wanted to know what she looked like. Were there cuts on her face that would scar, like Rodney and his cut hair and head? But it treaded into uncomfortable ground, and he didn't know how to finish.

"Yes?" she prodded. "Am I -"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind." He smiled wider.

"Time to go, John," Tamar called from behind him.

Saved by the Nokomisian, John thought wryly. "I'll see -" he closed his eyes and sighed with the frustration of saying stupid things that kept making him remember he couldn't see. "I'll talk to you later," he amended.

"John -"

Her voice was sympathetic and strained, and John gestured for Tamar to take him away. "Bye, Teyla," he said, ignoring the opening. He might feel comfortable enough to talk to her more than he would the others, but that was still ground he didn't feel up to treading on.

She didn't reply, and he wasn't sure it was because Tamar had already moved him into the hall, or if she didn't know what to say. Either way, it was for the best. Next up was Ronon.

"Sh – John," Ronon called, as he was wheeled into the runner's room, almost saying Sheppard. "You survived their childhood disease." His gravelly voice was amused, and John wasn't.

"I catch a virus that almost kills me, and all you and Rodney can do is make fun of me?"

"It's funny," Ronon rumbled. "That annoying guy said most of their kids catch it by the time they turn seven, and it wasn't dangerous. Come to think of it, you're kind of small, maybe it mistook you for a -"

"You know what," John interrupted. "Remember that leg of yours, and what it's gonna be like walking after they let you up." John heard Tamar leave. Finally. "She's gone, right?" he asked quietly, the teasing tone evaporating into military business.

Ronon grunted. "Yeah. As far as I can tell, it's a small staff here. Lot of the same faces. City is bigger, and it's sealed. We fell down a…mistake."

"Damn," swore John. "And let me guess, they'll probably go back over their records and try to make sure there aren't anymore mistakes."

"I think so," Ronon agreed, annoyed. "But I get the impression things move slower around here. They aren't big on defense, because they've got their isolation going for them, but they do have a force that maintains order. Crime would be a problem in a contained city like this."

John nodded. "Yeah, I can understand that. Still, it's a good start." He pondered asking how Ronon had gotten the information, but figured it was best to leave some things to the imagination. The thought of the runner batting his eyelashes at a nurse… "How's the leg?"

"Better, itches. The doc's gonna let me try out crutches tomorrow."

"Good, we need everyone on their feet as soon as possible." He tried to get an idea of how long they'd been here. A week? At least, but not that much more. "Don't overdo it and cause a set back," John warned him.

"I don't have set backs."

Sheppard gave a pained smile. Not like some unnamed individuals who catch childhood diseases. "Right. Okay, keep digging, I'm going to talk to Gadmere and see what progress I can make. In the meantime, don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?" repeated the runner.

John was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the disgruntled tone. Still, stupid applied. "Rash, impulsive, leading to danger," he clarified dryly.

"John, are you ready?" Tamar called.

He had to hand it to her. She had impeccable timing. "See you, big guy," he smirked.

"Yeah," Ronon responded. "Sh…John, don't do anything…rash."

He really did try to glare Ronon's way as Tamar wheeled him around. Course, knowing his luck, he'd glared at the wall, or Ronon's feet, or something equally unimpressive. Shit.

OoO

When he got back in his bed, with a lot of help from Tamar, John closed his eyes and felt mildly disappointed. He was alone again, with all the blackness and gray edges staring back at him. The trip had worn him out, and it didn't take much time before he fell asleep.

Waking up to the smell of dinner, John pushed himself upright, looking around even though he couldn't see. Was the person still there, or had they just left the tray and gone? He reached out tentatively and felt the table in front of him, and pulled it closer.

Fumbling, he found the napkin, and spread it over his lap. Eating blind was messy business, and even though it pissed him off when he spilled it on himself, having to be spoon fed made him angrier. But right now, things were looking up, and he found himself looking forward to the next day. He should've known it couldn't last.

"I hear you still wish to leave."

John's hand jerked. "I didn't know you were there," he said flatly.

Gadmere moved in the chair. "And I didn't know you couldn't accept reality."

"Whose reality?" retorted John. "This is your city, your people…your reality. Not ours."

"I explained before that once you arrived in the city, there was no going back," insisted Gadmere. "I thought you understood."

Understood? John had understood that these people were naïve enough to think that they'd give up their lives just because they said so. "Gadmere, we have people out there looking for us. Depending on us to get home so we can continue to do our jobs. Just like you have people here who depend on you," he reasoned.

"You can't do your job, John. You're blind."

Sheppard cringed from the blunt statement. "Maybe not," he agreed tightly. "But the others can."

"No, they can't." John heard Gadmere stand. "We have helped you and your friends recover, expending valuable resources. But our benevolence stops when you threaten exposing our city. All that we have left is down here. The Wraith drove us underground, and here we will remain, because here there is life without the constant threat of death, and I will not let you take that from us. Do not push our good will."

The administrator left in a swishing of material, and John pushed the tray of food away. His appetite was gone, and in its place was uneasiness. Damn it! John jerked, and accidentally hit the table the tray was on, causing it to tip, and with a loud crash, he knew it'd fallen to the floor. Great. Just great. He ignored whoever arrived to clean it up. When she asked if he wanted another tray, John ground out a no. His optimism and good mood had vanished with his appetite. And if they brought another tray, he'd throw that one, too, except this time, it'd be on purpose.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Okay, as some of you've noticed, this is a very character-narrative driven story, and because of it, I'm more nervous than usual (as my friends know more than anyone right now). Drufan, yes, the voice is different, and that was a very good catch! I hope that despite the lack of 'action, action' it'll keep being a rewarding read. There will be action, but it's not the focus of the story, but more about the characters and how they react to the situation. Thank you, so much, gaffer, Linzi and Shelly. I fear by the time this is over, I will have worn you out! LdyAne, trust me, being my beta is exhausting LOL! (if you only knew how much I whined and whimpered over this particular chapter).

Thank you Cpt. Untouchable for pointing out the goof (I'm going to blame it on a late late night...yeah...grin)

**Chapter Four**

It's amazing what twenty-four hours can do to one's optimism. John had gone from hopeful, to angry, and then back again to hopeful only to come crashing down again when he'd woken this morning to the news that a house was being prepared for them.

Gadmere had been formal, polite, and firm. They were members of the Nokomisian people now. They would be discharged from the hospital soon and expected to begin their new life, with slight accommodations for their conditions. It made John think of the saying 'nothing in life is free', because apparently, these people subscribed to the same philosophy. Not that he'd expected a hand-out, but he would've preferred Gadmere pack their bags, give them their things, and say 'have a safe trip home'.

Then again, every time he thought about actually making it back to Atlantis, he had to face the unpleasant prospect of being sent home on the Daedalus. He wanted to fly. He wanted to see. No one wanted to be blind, but to have all those things, and lose them -

"Feeling sorry for yourself?"

John jumped, and his heart sped up. "Rodney!" he yelped. Yes, he actually yelped. "Shit, don't sneak up on me." God. It'd suck to have survived a fall, traumatic brain injury, and some freak alien pox, only to die of a heart attack.

"I didn't sneak up, I'm in a wheelchair!" Rodney snapped. "You were so into your mental whining that you didn't hear."

Annoyed at the fact that he'd been that transparent in his thoughts, John grouched, "They let you up, great. Their timing is about as good as the Wraith." So what if he'd been engaged in mental whining? He didn't do it out loud, much, and if a guy was ever entitled to whine to himself, John figured this qualified. Truthfully, he'd felt he'd come far from those first few days when the panic had been his constant companion, and then the fear, and the anger – okay, the anger was still hanging around. And maybe the panic…and the fear…a little.

"You have your hair, something to be thankful for," Rodney bitched. "You could've been paralyzed, or any one of us could've been." He felt Rodney's hand on his arm, and was going to pull back, but then McKay kept talking. "Shep…John – this first name thing is ridiculous; anyway, I know that right now, things seem bad to you, but you've got to remember, it can always be worse. You're blind…not dumb. At least I never believed you were."

"Rodney McKay, wheelchair psychiatrist," joked Sheppard. "Did you come down here for the sole purpose of getting on my case, or was there a legitimate reason?" he asked sharply. And this time he did pull his arm away. "I thought you said you didn't do hand-holding."

"That is a legitimate reason." There was a noise, which sounded a lot like a snort. "And I don't, unless someone acts like a child and needs it."

"Rodney," warned John. He really didn't feel up to this today. As relieved as he was at knowing that McKay had been well enough to do the visiting this time, it just…he sighed. Too much on his shoulders. He didn't need to add Rodney trying to be there for him. "I'm touched, okay, but let's leave it at touched and move on. Have they told you we'll be leaving to set up house soon?"

There was a huff to his left, and McKay relented, "Fine." John felt his bed shake, and he was going to ask Rodney what he'd done, but McKay kept talking. "Teyla told me that Gadmere was getting everything set so we could play 'the Munsters meet the Cleavers'. She also said you seemed depressed."

Teyla had dropped by earlier. Her doctor was making sure she was up to being released. Her injured arm was in a sling, and her surgical incision, from what she described, was similar to the laparoscopic kind from back home. Small and she said it wasn't hurting much anymore. He hadn't been talkative, but he was sure that was more to do with the fact that Gadmere had just left after dropping his ultimatum. John hadn't ever equated depressed with himself, not even after that disastrous mission in Afghanistan. "I wasn't depressed. I was pissed, and get your feet off my bed." John had figured out what'd made his bed shake.

"How did you -" Rodney started to say.

"Psychic."

"Can I join the party?" Ronon asked, and Jesus, was EVERYONE going to keep sneaking into his room today? Okay, maybe he was a little grumpy.

He waved a hand in the direction that was his door. "Sit somewhere," he ordered. "Are you on crutches?"

"Yeah," Ronon grunted, and John listened as the sound of rubber hitting floor worked clumsily around his bed. He was pretty sure he heard some wood knocking into wood, and a few low curses. "This is stupid. Nobody can walk on these things." Ronon dropped into the chair that Gadmere usually sat in, and John heard the crutches clunk to the floor, hard.

"Sure they can," he replied smugly. "I had a pair in sixth grade. Eight weeks, too. Maybe it's your size, makes you uncoordinated."

"I wonder what the weight limit is on those things," Rodney piped in. "You might want to take it easy or boom, they snap like your, uh…never mind."

John had the sudden impression that Ronon was glaring across his bed at McKay. "Play nice," he intoned, and trying to do the reassuring leader thing, he turned his head in Ronon's direction. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it."

"I don't want to get the hang of it."

"You don't have a choice," Rodney pointed out. "Just be happy your hair -"

"Would you stop it with the hair," John retorted.

"Fine," Rodney replied. "Then how about the fact that every time I try to use my right hand, it shakes so hard I could win an award for best impression of a Parkinson's patient, or that the vision in my right eye is virtually non-existent, hmmm? Or would you like to hear about the headaches that make my teeth hurt, or the fact that I haven't been able to go to the bathroom -"

Everyone was stone dead silent.

McKay coughed self-consciously. "Okay, that was too much information."

"Yes," Ronon and John chorused.

The situation was getting out of hand, and the 'party' was turning into a 'one-up' on the pity factor. Not to mention, it did disturb him to hear Rodney lay it out like that. He'd known that he and McKay faced the more, what was a good way of putting it, career killing injuries. The work Rodney did was delicate, and he needed his eyes and his hands, almost as much as John did. Shit. They needed a miracle.

"Look, tomorrow we're getting released," he said. "Let's keep things in perspective. We're all screwed right now. Between the four of us, we could make a run for making a complete body out of what we have left that does work, but that's not going to get us home. We've got to focus. Get out of here, do what they want us to do." It hung unspoken in the air, that when they were out of here and could talk with a bit more privacy, they'd start planning on a way to get home.

It wasn't long after his pep talk that Gadmere and a couple of staff members knocked on his door, and announced it was time for everyone to eat some lunch and rest. After Rodney and Ronon left, loudly, and for once he was thankful that neither one of them was being quiet, John asked Gadmere if he could stay and talk for a moment.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Gadmere said. "I'll answer what I can."

"Why are you so afraid of us leaving?"

There was a pause, and it lasted so long John wondered if Gadmere had left, but the administrator started talking, and now he was so close it made John jump, and God, did he hate that reflexive action.

"Because, John, all that you see," the man stopped with the obvious misspoken word heavy between them. "All that is here," he amended softly. "It's what we have left." Gadmere swished around to the chair.

John had a sudden urge to move it somewhere else in the room when Gadmere was gone, just because. The man sat, and continued, oblivious to Sheppard's internal musings. "Thousands of years ago, our planet was…teeming. Our people, John, it was…a great civilization. We had the future in our hands, and we were grasping it!" Sheppard was startled by the raw passion in Gadmere's voice. "Did you know we were allies of the Ancients?"

"The Ancients?" John asked, trying for confused.

Gadmere's chuckle told him he failed, miserably. He really had to work on his deceptiveness. "We have the items you arrived with, so don't bother lying, Colonel."

"You know our names, and where we come from, and that we have Ancient technology, so why don't you just trust us, and let us leave?"

"That's just it!" the man exclaimed. "They left us. Abandoned us to die at the hands of the Wraith."

There was bitterness now and it made John cringe. He tried to inject reason into a very old grudge. "They were going to lose, Gadmere. Being decimated wouldn't have changed your situation."

"My situation? It wasn't me, John, but my ancestors. They did the only thing they could, and that was begin to build underground, but the cost -" there was an edge of hysteria as the administrator continued painfully, "– oh, the cost. Millions of lives, John, millions! Sacrificing themselves to the Wraith so the others could work undetected."

"You're not the only people that have suffered at the hands of the Wraith," he replied, forcing himself to keep it calm. "Teyla lost her world."

It was only after he said it, that John realized he'd played right into Gadmere's hands. "Exactly," the man declared. "That is why you will remain. You may find living underground a desperate tactic, but it works. The properties of the dirt above hides our presence. It was only an accident that the maintenance crews missed the air shaft you four fell down, and I am truly sorry for that, but it's done."

John listened as the man stood. "I am sorry," stressed Gadmere. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but you need to understand. Your friends, Teyla and Ronon, they'll be assigned jobs at a work desk until their injuries are fully healed, and then if they wish, they may change to something more…physical. As for you and Doctor McKay, you will stay with them, and continue to recover. I'm afraid we have nothing for you at the moment, considering the type of injuries you both sustained."

There was murmuring that clued him in on the arrival of someone else, and at the same time, he smelled the food. Lunch. Funny enough, he'd lost his appetite, again.

The table was pulled over to his bed, and the tray clunked onto it. "Eat, and rest. And begin to accept what you cannot change. There is no way out of Nokomis." Long after Gadmere left, John sat in his bed, and stared at nothing but the blackness.

OoO

The next day brought a lot of chaos. There was a constant stream of staff coming in and out of John's room. The plan was for Teyla and Ronon to go first, get the house ready for Sheppard and McKay. They had to go on some job orientation, and because of their recuperative status, the Nokomisian in charge had promised to make it short for both of them so they could rest more before working a half-day tomorrow.

Teyla had shown up at his room that morning, and when John asked if she was sure she felt up for this, she'd insisted she was fine. It was something else that was bothering her.

"I do not like leaving you and Rodney…John," Teyla worried beside his bed.

Even though Gadmere had given up that he knew a lot more about them than John wanted, he still preferred they drop titles and keep it simple. They were being forced into living a different life right now and they needed to try and keep from slipping into old habits that might reveal too much. Tilting his head towards her voice, John reassured her, "Teyla, if they wanted to hurt us, I'm pretty sure they would've done it by now."

He could imagine her frown. When she spoke again, he could even hear it. "It is not that," she stressed. "It is not being near in case -"

In case they should get worse. In case something should happen, and they'd die or get separated, or any other worst-case scenario she was dreaming up. John knew what she meant, because he'd felt the same. It was normal, he guessed, when you'd gone through what his team had. Every one of them injured, waking up alone in a strange place, and then forced into a situation where they had to depend on everyone else for food, water, hell – living. All of them were on edge. Their injuries were more than the ones on the surface.

"We'll be fine," he smiled, hoping to convey that he believed it. Fact was, he did. He didn't believe the Nokomisians were dangerous, just as long as you didn't try to leave, apparently. John wasn't sure what these people would do at that point. One thing he did know, was that they weren't in any condition to find out. "Where's Ronon?" he changed topics.

"The doctor is instructing him again how to move on crutches. He broke the other pair and is becoming frustrated. It is unfortunate Halling is not here to give him lessons."

Now, he heard the amusement in her voice. Halling had struggled with the crutches, eventually discarding one of the pair before finding a way he could move and not break his neck. "Good, tell him to keep an eye out when you go," he reminded.

That was the upside of Teyla and Ronon going ahead. They'd be free to start looking around the city, and that meant finding a possible way back to the surface. Gadmere insisted there was no way, but they'd gotten down here, which meant there'd be another way back out. If these people had made one mistake, they could've made two.

"I will, John…how are you…handling…"

Teyla was fumbling with her words, and John knew it was because she meant his blindness. He hadn't talked to her about it, and Ronon was avoiding the topic like it was the plague. Rodney, of course, mentioned it in every conversation, as if to prove he wasn't affected by it. Sheppard knew that it meant the opposite. Rodney was the most affected, aside from John himself. Maybe that was because apparently McKay had his own vision issues bothering him.

"What's there to handle?" he replied tightly. "Life throws you lemons, you make lemonade."

"I see," she said gently. "Another of your sayings to pretend that everything is better than it really is."

John's lips thinned and he didn't say anything. He heard Teyla stand, and her hand found his shoulder, and she squeezed. "Despite your fears, we will not leave you, ever." The hand was gone, and he heard her footsteps retreating.

Her declaration meant more than just here, and John knew it. She was referring to the long haul, if and when they made it back to Atlantis, and surprisingly, John felt comforted by that. It was hard enough to fight the fears of not being able to see. Every sound was amplified, and you couldn't help letting your imagination run with a creak of the floor, or a hiss in the air. But, to fear your future, on top of all the other burdens of being blind, that was hard, and it was taking a toll on Sheppard. He was trying to cope by focusing on the present situation, and that was getting his team back home.

The rest of the day went a lot slower than John would've liked. He found himself dwelling more on what it would be like if he never got his sight back. Without Ronon or Teyla to visit with, he didn't have any other distractions. He couldn't read, no movies or games, just himself talking to himself in his head.

Wheels squeaked and he knew McKay was coming to see him, but John really didn't feel up to talking. He kept his eyes closed and held his body still. It's funny, he didn't even know why he didn't want to talk to Rodney, but sometimes there isn't any good reason for what you feel like.

"Sheppard," McKay called.

Almost as if Rodney knew he was avoiding him, the use of his last name was something McKay knew would irritate him. John sighed, and opened his eyes, staring up at the same darkness that only changed at the peripheral edges, and even that hadn't lightened any further. "John, okay. You're a genius. It's a name, not the equation to calculate relative speeds of light."

"Next time, don't be so predictable. I could set my watch by you," and Rodney's hand latched on to John's, again. He tried not to flinch. "I'm not going to let you lose yourself in self-pity because of this," Rodney declared.

Pushing himself up off the bed with the palms of his hands, John shook his head at the man's temerity. "Tell me that you aren't scared about getting back? You told me yourself that your right hand shakes, and you can't hardly see out of that eye. What do you think you'll do if they send you back to -" he broke off, sweating a little at realizing how close he'd come to saying Earth. "-home. What will you do? Lose the job you care about more than anything else, and what do you have left?" he snarled, surprised at the harshness that had forced itself out.

John worked to control his emotions, his mouth, but it was a little too late for that. He hadn't meant to say those things to Rodney. There was silence, and John strained to hear if McKay was still there. Finally, McKay responded, "I didn't realize you were a quitter."

The heaviness in the sentence made John want to deny it, but maybe Rodney was right. Still, how can you fly when you can't see? Hell, how could he get his team home? And maybe that more than anything was weighing him down. They were his responsibility, and he couldn't even look in their eyes and see if they were doing okay.

Rodney leaned in closer towards him, and John could feel the heat radiating from McKay's body. "Every time you turn around, I'm going to be there. You may not be able to see me, but you can hear. You didn't die in that shaft, and I'm not going to let you begin to think maybe you should have. Get that through your thick skull."

"That's what this is about?" John asked, suddenly getting the picture. "Rodney, I won't deny that I'm going back and forth between being pissed, worried, angry. Hell, I'm waffling more than a damn waffle iron, but I'm not suicidal."

There was an awkward pause before Rodney cleared his throat. "I never said you were," he stated. "I was just saying…that…I'm going to stick to you like… bad lint."

"Bad lint?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Look, I suck at the whole 'be a friend' thing, okay? I know it, you know it, and apparently so does Ronon, but Teyla thinks I can handle it, and she's worried you aren't coping with this…blindness thing."

"Maybe that's because Teyla's the one not coping," reasoned John.

"I've got an idea." McKay shifted topics suddenly. "Crossword puzzles. We can forget this whole embarrassing conversation took place," he offered tiredly. "And then this afternoon we'll get shipped off to our new home for the hopelessly injured and screwed up, and learn just how much we didn't know about each other. I'll start. Eight letter word for inflexible," McKay quizzed.

John scrunched his face. When he got it, his muscles slackened, and he rolled his sightless eyes. "Cute, very cute – stubborn."

"Yes, well, subliminal messages, and all that secret spy stuff," Rodney sniffed.

John grinned, two could play that game. "Seven letter word for guilt?" He could just imagine Rodney twitching over that one. Of course, imagine was all he could do, since he couldn't see.

"You hear the sound of me not laughing," Rodney deadpanned. "It's remorse, by the way, and never let it be said that I don't know my dictionary. Your turn, nine letter word for complex?"

Vowing he would repay Rodney for this, he replied, "Difficult." At least he had the satisfaction of getting them right. He'd lived on crosswords as a teen. It had almost bordered on obsessive. The afternoon waned with each one continuing to challenge the other by getting in personal insults via crossword clues. John found it oddly exhilarating.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Sorry for ony one chapter today guys but real life snuck it's little head in. And you're better off anyway, cause chapter 6 ends on a cliffie so you can shout at me tomorrow. Thanks gaffer, Linzi and Shelly for beta, advice, and shoulder to whine on and bounce ideas off of!

**Chapter Five**

The trip to their new house was unsettling. McKay helped him get dressed, and the amount of trust needed in that was something he preferred not to think about. When he asked Rodney what the clothes looked like, because all he felt was the distinct nylon he'd been hearing every time Gadmere had visited, Rodney had said imagine wind pants meet Mad Max.

With that disturbing mental image, John was guided to the lobby in a wheelchair, where he met up with Teyla. She took his arm, and with Rodney on the other side, they walked out of the building. Gadmere had said that he'd stay in touch, and to make sure they arrived for their appointments tomorrow. Doctor Calicut wanted to make sure the increased activity wasn't causing any unforeseen complications.

As Teyla guided him into a seat not far from where they'd left the building, John asked, "What's it like out here?" His feet didn't stumble against rocks, or dirt, and the ground felt smooth and hard underneath the soft slipper like shoes that went with the other clothes.

"It is…dark," she struggled to explain. "Artificial lighting is minimal on the streets where the transports go. It's like being inside a…"

Rodney interrupted. "Think of a tunnel, then increase it exponentially by five, which is really quite impressive, but square it off."

McKay did sound a little awe-struck. But John needed more. "Are there any trees, or bugs, anything? I mean, how do they survive down here?" He had so many questions, and it irritated him that if he could just see, he wouldn't need to ask. "It's all metal, what?"

"It's a steel alloy, but I think the steel is relatively new," Rodney mused. "Which correlates to us falling through the old air shaft that was apparently missed in the transition. They've been replacing the wood with this new alloy, creating a more stable and permanent structure."

"They've been underground for a very long time," Teyla added. "And I have seen bugs, but nothing larger. There are some…plants, but they are small."

"Think stunted, John." Rodney was getting better about using first names, and Sheppard didn't know whether it was a good thing or not. As they left behind everything that remained of who they were before, it became easier to accept staying, yet, John knew that it was important to distance themselves, and make the Nokomisian people believe they were accepting their situation.

As Teyla guided the transport to their new home, Rodney began a monologue explaining what he saw. The streets were narrow, with only room for two transports side by side, and everything was laid out in grids. John's mind flashed back to visions of Tron. Without anything else to compare, it was the best he could come up with.

There were raised platforms on both sides of the street, and flush against the tunnel wall, were the entrances into the buildings. Rodney hypothesized that the tunnels had been formed first then the living spaces carved off of the main passageways. McKay wasn't known for his art appreciation, but even he complained that everything was uniform, and dull. He even used the word depressing. Once they left what Rodney figured amounted to the Nokomis commercial district, the buildings went from businesses to homes, but aside from the lack of signs, you wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, according to McKay.

"What about power?" John asked. He looked to his right, because he was squeezed in the middle between Teyla on his left, and Rodney on his other side. Teyla was the one driving, as she knew the way. "They've got to be using something to run this equipment and maintain the environment? How?

"Do you really think I know?" McKay sounded peeved. "Just because I usually do know, doesn't mean I know everything."

With a broad grin, John knew the source of Rodney's irritation. "It really bugs you that you haven't figured it out yet."

"Of course it does," he replied testily. "But in my defense, I've spent the past week in an alien hospital, at death's door, I might add, and if that wasn't enough, which it is, they took my equipment." John felt Rodney's body shift irritably next to him. "I'll figure it out…eventually."

"Make it a priority," John suggested thoughtfully. "Because it might be useful when we go to…work." They didn't know to what degree they were being watched, but he was pretty sure they were being watched.

Teyla picked up the descriptions for the remainder of the trip. She painted a drab picture, with everything either gray polished steel, or black and white, and always the same structures, over and over again. John let his eyes close while he listened to Teyla's 'seeing'. He created pictures in his mind from the details he'd gleaned from both her and Rodney. John imagined the dull gleam of the metal, and the flush walls and doors with few windows…it all seemed very…Orwellian. More than ever, John knew they had to find a way out of here.

Ironically, the conditions favored the blind, because he wouldn't have to live with seeing the same sights, day after day. He imagined it would be harder for the rest of them, especially Teyla, having lived a large majority of her life closer to nature than McKay and himself. Ronon he wasn't sure about. His world had seemed pretty advanced, but he'd also been on the run for a long time.

When they arrived at what was their assigned house, a thought occurred to John. "Where do you park the car?"

"Park the car?" Teyla repeated, confused.

The transport had stopped, and Rodney was helping John out. He tried not to hesitate when he picked his foot up, and moved it forward. Then tried not to wince when his toe hit the curb, and Rodney apologized and told him to "Step up."

"He means this thing," explained Rodney. "No garage to put it in and I don't see anyone else's in the street."

"We do not keep these," she said, understanding. "They are for everyone to use. Gadmere explained it yesterday. I thought you'd also been told as much."

All of a sudden Rodney shouted in surprise. "What…it just…did it just do what I think it did?" he stuttered.

"Yes, it did." Teyla was on John's other side now, and guiding him forward.

"What did it do?" John asked through clenched teeth. Had he mentioned how much he hated not being able to see?

"It just," Rodney was stunned, "drove off, on its own. No driver. They've got autopilot on their transports!"

"That's it?" drawled John. "It isn't like they've discovered how to beam people from one place to another. It's an autopilot, Rodney. We've had them for a while back home."

"Yes, but, not like that," Rodney spluttered. "You should've seen it…"

John froze.

"Oh, god, I shouldn't have said that…it's just…big mouth, big foot. Never mind. You can hit me. Go ahead. Hit me."

Sheppard looked sideways where he knew Rodney was, and Teyla stopped guiding him forward. "I appreciate the self-sacrifice, but it's hard to hit what you can't see." John was inwardly amused even though part of him had cringed from the thoughtless comment.

"Should we not get inside?" Teyla interjected. "You two should get settled and rest."

Shrugging, John let her pull him into the building. Truthfully, the trip had worn him out, and he imagined Rodney was feeling the same. As they cleared the threshold into the house, he was surprised that it didn't feel any different on his face than the outside had felt. The entire underground city must be temperature controlled, and not just the buildings themselves. She guided him to the right, and placed his hand around a thick rope. A rope?

"Ronon and I ran these throughout the house. It is one level, with two sleeping rooms. Ronon and I will stay in one, while you and Rodney will be in the other. Each room location has a notch on the rope when you are standing directly before it. Follow the arrow and you will be led into the room. The kitchen has been arranged with a similar design using pieces of hanging rope. Tonight I will go through the system and explain which notch stands for plates, and silverware. The food in the refrigerator has been placed in a specific order for you." Teyla paused, letting the information sink in. "Do you need anything before you rest?"

To say that she'd just made him feel touched and sad at the same time would probably be like saying the Leaning Tower of Pisa was just a leaning tower. John had strong emotions always boiling underneath the surface, but he held them in control, most of the time. This injury, and the subsequent fall-out that came with finding himself blinded, was undoing his control.

He rolled the rope in his fingers and imagined the work they'd put in, still injured and recovering themselves, just so he could have some measure of independence. "Just one thing," John replied thickly. "What do they have you and Ronon doing?"

"Filing maintenance plans for the city," Teyla said, and John could hear the smile in her tone. "A job I believe we shall keep."

The impact of what she'd said shocked him, and left John grinning like a boy. Gadmere must not have known what job they'd assigned Ronon and Teyla. Maintenance reports! There isn't any way they could've asked for a better match. Now there was hope in finding a possible way out of this underground city and back to Atlantis.

"How'd you do that?" asked McKay. "Did they actually assign that job, or did you do something to get it?"

John frowned in McKay's direction, and tried to elbow him but ended up missing. "Rodney, are you implying that Teyla slept her way up the corporate ladder?" he needled.

"What?" Rodney responded. There was a pause, and then he groaned. "Would you drag your twelve-year old mind out of the gutter. I was actually wondering more along the lines of whose bones Ronon threatened to use as matchsticks."

"I didn't threaten anyone," Ronon declared grumpily somewhere in front of John.

He didn't think Ronon had been in the room when they'd first got here, which meant he'd either been sleeping, or eating, or attending to those other things. "No one said you did," Sheppard replied easily.

"Yes, I did," argued McKay. "Didn't I say that?"

From the direction McKay had turned, John knew he'd asked Teyla, and not him. John moved back, stepping on McKay's toe. He smiled briefly at the yelp, and then said, "A nap would be nice."

"Rodney, help John to your room. Food and drinks are in the kitchen, and we will be here if either of you need anything. I have some paperwork to look over and will be in the kitchen. It is good…to be together again," Teyla said softly. Her footsteps echoed as she walked away.

As Rodney prodded him forward, John asked the runner, "Where's your crutches?" When Ronon had walked into the main room, John hadn't heard the tell-tale thump-squeak.

"Hopping works better."

McKay snorted behind him. "He couldn't figure out how to use them."

"Didn't Teyla tell you to go to bed?" Ronon asked pointedly.

McKay poked John in his back. "Are you going to let him talk to you like that?"

"It's not me he's talking to," Sheppard said over his shoulder. "And why are you hiding behind me?"

"I'm not hiding…I'm helping…you." McKay pushed him forward. "Our room is that way." And if Rodney suddenly pushed John faster, it was a natural conclusion that they'd just passed Ronon.

John's hand felt a notch, and Rodney turned him to the right asking, "Eight letter word for home?"

John grinned easily. "Domicile. And speaking of which, where's the beds?" He didn't like to admit he was tired, but the trip had worn him out. He'd also started straining to see if he could make out more than just those odd edges of light. It was something he was beginning to regret, because there hadn't been any change, except the effort had given him a headache. The thought of going to sleep where no one else was around except his team was a relief he hadn't imagined would feel so good. They might not be back on Atlantis, but at least they were all in the same place.

"This way," instructed Rodney. As he eased John down, McKay used both of his hands, and Sheppard was alarmed at the trembles that were transmitted from Rodney's right hand, into his own. Without being able to see, he hadn't realized how severe the tremors were. Frowning, he reached out with his left and steadied McKay's right. "Is it worse?" he asked softly.

Rodney pulled his hand back. "No," he answered abruptly. "It's…when I'm tired…"

"Yeah," John said, understanding. "Four letter word for bad things," he cracked, trying to inject some levity into the tension-filled air between them.

"Do you really want me to go through all the four letter words that fit?" Rodney asked. "I've been working with the military for a long time."

Sheppard's lips curled up. "Good point."

McKay stepped away, and a few moments later, John heard the sound of a bed sinking under the weight of Rodney's body. He brought his legs up onto his own, and stretched out. He lay listening to McKay's breathing long after it'd evened out into sleep, confused by the constant roller coaster of emotions.

OoO

The next week passed quickly. John figured out how to use the rope system Ronon and Teyla had built for him, and they passed their medical checks. John's eyes continued to cast a pall over everything, and in many ways, he wondered if it wasn't reminding the rest of his team of their own injuries, and what it cost them, as well. Rodney's right side was weaker than John's, and after he'd dropped the third plate, Teyla had snapped at him to stop trying to fix his own food.

McKay had stormed out of the kitchen, and retreated to their shared room. John followed the rope and didn't bother knocking. "She's only frustrated at how slowly finding a way out is progressing," John explained. He knew what McKay was feeling. The conflicting worry about what would happen when they got back warred with a deep desire to go home.

"I can't do my job," Rodney admitted, and it sounded like it was the first time he truly realized the ramifications of his injuries.

John stumbled forward, running into McKay's bed, before searching with his hands to find a spot next to Rodney and sat down. "We'll figure something out."

"No, we won't. They're going to pack us up, stick us on the Daedalus, and give us a nice medical retirement check," Rodney insisted.

"We can become members of the Athosians, stay on in an advisory capacity." John felt McKay shift backwards and waited. He'd been running solutions through his mind almost nonstop. He didn't want to be shifted back to Earth, either, not knowing what was happening with Atlantis, and the fight against the Wraith. And, he still had the ATA gene to make him worthwhile. McKay might not be able to do intricate repair work, but he could tell people what to do for him. "We're not entirely useless."

"Did you know I used to play the piano?" Rodney asked unexpectedly.

"You never told me."

"Yeah, well, I haven't told you a lot of things." The laugh was harsher than John was used to. "I went into science because it was the only thing I was good at. I stopped playing the piano when my teacher informed me that I could only be a technical pianist, and that I lacked emotion."

John's shoulders were beginning to ache from hunching over, and he leaned back, finding the wall. "You shouldn't have listened to her."

"No," Rodney said. "She was right. I had no feel for it, because I don't do emotions well." He uttered a derisive laugh. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed."

Sheppard chuckled. "I won't. Trust me."

The unwelcome silence descended again, and John waited. It took him a while to realize McKay had fallen asleep. Sighing, John reached towards Rodney's body, and tried to ease him on to the bed without waking him. It was clumsy, and he couldn't verify the man was in a comfortable position, but it'd do.

John stood up, and using the bed as a guide, found the rope, and moved out of their room, pulling the door shut behind him. He made his way back to the kitchen, and got back to his seat.

"I am sorry, John. Is Rodney all right?"

Teyla was sitting to his left, and her voice sounded sad and contrite, and frustrated, all rolled into one regretful package. "He's fine," he assured her. "I think he had to finally face that he's not getting any better, either. I don't think Rodney's used to not being able to force his way through things. His injuries aren't circuit boards that can be re-routed."

"I think we are all realizing our new limitations," she admitted quietly. "I was…short-tempered with him."

Everyone was short-tempered, Teyla had that much right. Ronon insisted on hopping, and was often suffering a lot of pain because of it. His leg was healing slowly, and the runner hated not being able to move around like he used to do. When he and Teyla had arrived home from work, Ronon had bitched about filing paper, and threatened to set it on fire and then there'd be no more paperwork to put away.

When Teyla had pointed out that then there'd be no records left to examine for a way home, he'd snapped that he didn't care, and had stormed, with a hop-thunk the entire way, back to his room. It'd been shortly after that, when McKay had broken the plate, and Teyla had lost her temper with Rodney.

If John had thought Ronon wouldn't throw him out of his room, he would've gone and tried to talk to him, also. But sometimes, leaving people to stew was better anyway. Ronon had been through a lot before, and had kept himself going. Sheppard figured he'd get through this. Another four weeks, and the cast would be off, which would go a long way towards improving the runner's mood.

"And how are you managing, John?" Teyla asked, her voice gentle and laced with remorse. "I'm afraid we have all been too wrapped up in our own fears, that it is easy to forget…"

Easy to forget, he repeated, as she trailed off. He never forgot. Every time he stared into the darkness with open eyes, he knew. It hadn't improved. The few gray edges remained, but nothing new had lightened. Sometimes the panic over staying this way choked him, and John found an excuse to go sit on the porch and listen to the few transports go by. They'd been allotted a house on the outskirts of the city.

He suddenly felt the urge to go out there again. "I'm managing," he replied plainly. What else was there to say? He hadn't cried, or contemplated anything drastic. He still had hope, small as it may be, that there was something that Beckett could do for him when they got back.

"Is this still good?" he asked, picking up the sandwich in front of him. The Nokomisians grew food in special hydroponics labs. It was, Teyla had found out, the main draw of power and light for the city.

"It is."

He nodded, and taking the sandwich, stood. "I'm going outside." She knew what it meant. He wanted to be alone. With four people sharing one small house, finding time alone was a hard thing to do, and they all found their own ways of doing it.

John sat on the metal porch for a while, probably late into the night. With no way of telling the passage of time other than a mental idea, he listened as the few transports dwindled to nothing going by. He'd finished the sandwich, and let his back rest against the front wall of their house.

The door opened, and the hop-thunk gave away Ronon's presence. "I wouldn't really set the files on fire," he said, and dropped himself awkwardly to the porch beside John.

"It probably wouldn't go over well with your new employers."

"I don't really care about them."

The runner was always blunt, John had to give him that, but aside from the bluntness, Sheppard agreed. He'd tried to feel sympathy, but instead he could only muster pity. These people had burrowed away from danger and now seemed to live an almost half-life. Was it really better than facing the threat from the Wraith?

"It's night, and nothing changes here," John said finally. "Or does it – I can't tell."

Ronon stretched his leg out, the sound of it sliding across the metal made John cold. Everything was cold here. The only time he got warm was when he slept. "It doesn't, much. The sky's always dark."

"That's because there is no sky," Rodney said behind them.

John hadn't heard the door open, or maybe Ronon hadn't shut it. He listened as McKay moved over, and felt him settle beside him. Listened as Ronon moved and told Teyla to sit next to him.

"No stars," she added.

John breathed in stale recycled air. "They've lost their world, and they don't even know it," he murmured. They sat and listened as the night waned, and the few bugs chirped nearby, but otherwise, it was silent, except for their breathing and occasional movements. An underground city that wasn't even a pale replica of the real thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Here's the evil cliffie I warned about ducking and running. Thanks Linzi, gaffer and Shelly for beta, and handholding! **  
**

**Chapter Six**

After that night, they all found a small measure of peace together. It became easier to deal with running into someone literally every time you wanted to do anything. Teyla and Ronon would leave in the morning and come back in the afternoon, while during the day, Rodney and John tried to come up with plans for an escape to the surface. It wasn't easy trying to talk about secrets when you knew that someone was listening, and you didn't want them to hear what you had to say. They had to find ways of doing it so that any listeners would be confused.

That's where the crossword puzzles began to become a lot more than mere entertainment. John doubted that any eavesdroppers would put their clues and words together and realize they were discussing escape plans.

It was during one of those afternoon brainstorming sessions where McKay presented a plan of attack that, while it was a good idea, also scared John. He found himself fighting against that old familiar feeling of panic. "An eleven letter word for getting close to someone," quizzed John.

Rodney verbally ran through a list of possibilities. It was part of the process they were using to verify the message trying to be passed between each other was actually the one being received. "Integrate…no…merge…unite…incorporate…it's incorporate, good one," he murmured with the right amount of appreciation.

They'd already haphazardly discussed the need to figure out how the power was distributed to the city through the same process. The end result was that McKay wanted to see Gadmere about getting a job working on the power supply grid. He was overqualified, and Rodney could argue with the administrator that it only made sense for him to try and help improve the conditions in the city.

"Nine letter word for possibilities," asked Rodney and then conversationally added, "I've been thinking of getting a job. As much as I appreciate your scintillating conversation, my damaged brain could probably do more for this city than their best can do."

John tried not to take it personally. It was part of the plan. They were certain that Gadmere hadn't just accepted their word that they'd become model Nokimisians. Maybe the first days of refusals and insisting they be returned to the gate were to blame. Either way, if what they suspected was true, Gadmere would get the news that McKay wanted a job. Days later when Rodney showed up asking for it, there'd be no surprises. "Prospective…potential," he exclaimed, getting the letter number right on the second try.

It was actually easier to do this when all four were around. Because Teyla and Ronon added more people to bandy about their so-called guesses, which were really just more ways to clarify what they were trying to say to one another in the planning process.

"Seven letter word for taking care." John really wanted this one to get through to McKay.

He heard Rodney shuffle across the floor towards him, and felt his bed dip down. "Caution," McKay answered. "Too easy," he scoffed.

The message returned to John – Rodney thought it'd be a cakewalk tricking these Nokomisians. John only wished he felt as confident. "Five letter word for innocent," Sheppard asked.

"Naïve," retorted McKay, and John could hear the annoyance growing even before Rodney returned his own clue to him. "Nine letter word for necessary."

John sighed. Because as much as it galled him, McKay was right. It just…it should've been him taking the risks. He was in charge, they were his team. Rodney would have to walk into the lion's den without anyone to watch his back, and it gave Sheppard some serious baggage just thinking about it. "Essential," he answered reluctantly. "Required. No, not enough letters, essential." And damn it, it was. But just because John knew it, didn't mean he had to like it.

There was a sound of Rodney slapping his hand into the other, and the bed shifted again as McKay stood. "Lunch?"

"Why not," he capitulated, shrugging. "But you're not allowed to eat anything with those…what are they, anyway?" John climbed to his feet, and took the four steps he knew now by heart to latch on to the rope. He didn't really need it much anymore, it was just reassuring, but the path to get to any one place in the house wasn't long, and after a week, he had it down pretty well in his mind. Pilots are good at spatial things like that.

"I can't help it if they've got the equivalent of beans here."

"Yeah, well, you might want to try and help it, or you'll find yourself sleeping on the couch," John complained. The main room of the house had a facsimile of an Earth couch but it was hard, and that was probably being generous.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in more crosswords, building a plan wherein they could knock the power out, creating a diversion that would allow them enough time to use a blowtorch on metal, assuming they could get a blowtorch-like tool, and create an exit. The problem with that, is the need to make sure they had reliable plans for the city. Otherwise, they could cut a hole only to find solid dirt above. The other idea was to intentionally damage the power system and tell Gadmere they'd fix it only if they were allowed their freedom to return to the surface. The second one was risky, because it could end in a game of chicken, and the first one to blink, loses. And John was pretty sure he'd blink first. He wasn't the type to let an entire population die for his freedom. The only thing he could hope was that Gadmere didn't know that.

If anyone had been listening to their little game, they probably thought John and McKay hated each other. It'd gotten a little heated in spots, especially discussing the second plan. Sheppard was convinced that route was a bad idea, and it put Rodney too close to danger. Rigging a diversion was simpler, and no one would have to walk back into the enemies' hands to repair the damage done. Fortunately, Rodney had a well-developed sense of self-preservation, and when he got the point John was trying to make using clues, he'd paled and replied that first-borns were really the smarter kids. Hidden message – the first idea was better. It's a good thing he did Rodney-speak.

When Ronon and Teyla got home, John knew that something was up by the silence. There was the familiar hop-thunk as Ronon moved into the kitchen, followed by the smells. With his sight gone, John's other senses were beginning to adapt. His hearing filtered a lot less out, and he paid attention to the little sounds more than ever. Smells were sharper. The body wash the Nokomisians provided, and the one she'd continued to buy at the small store, was flowery. Roses and lilacs.

"Good day at the office?" he asked lightly, just to break the quiet. It always unnerved him when no one was talking. Except when he was outside sitting on the porch. That's when he wanted it quiet. That's when he listened to the cadence of the city. The subtle hum of the power running under the streets, the occasional transport, and even a few rare times, a Nokomisian out for a stroll.

"No," snarled Ronon. "I'm going for a walk."

There was a rapid series of hop-thunks and then nothing. "Did he just say he was going for a walk?" asked Sheppard. "Because he's still got a cast."

Teyla drifted near John, the air filling with her scent, and she touched his arm. "We should go after him. I think he is beginning to grow frustrated over his lingering injury," she said slowly.

"You two go, I'll stay here," McKay offered. "And fix dinner." Rodney seemed almost inordinately pleased at the idea.

"No, we should all go," insisted Teyla, already pulling John to his feet.

Not sure what was going on, Sheppard nodded, and let himself be led outside. Once there, she began leading him up the street. After he felt they'd left their house far enough behind, he asked tightly, "Care to explain?"

"Ronon needed to create a valid reason for us to leave," explained Teyla quietly. "We found the plans we needed today."

"Really," Rodney whispered close to John's left. "That's timing. We were talking about a way to create a diversion just a little while ago."

"I hope it was not openly," she said, her tone sharp.

"Hello, genius," retorted McKay. "Of course it wasn't."

John stopped walking, which meant they all had to stop, since each one of them had one of his arms looped into one of their own. "We can't do anything for at least two more weeks, which gives us time to implement Rodney's part of the plan." Quickly he explained about Rodney's idea of getting a job working in the Nokomis power plant, and creating something that would allow a large enough diversion for them to get away.

As he finished up, John heard Ronon thunking his way back towards them. "I thought you were supposed to come get me," he said gruffly. "My leg's killing me."

Grinning sheepishly, John confessed, "Sorry, my fault. I made her stop and explain what happened." He lowered his voice. "Did anyone see you make copies?"

"I do not believe so," Teyla replied quickly.

When John went to ask where the copies were at, he was suddenly grabbed by Teyla, and he felt her lips descend on his. Startled, he jerked at first, but his mind caught up to his reflexes and he relaxed into it, finishing it off, with an amused whisper, "You could've just asked."

"Be glad she did it first," sniped McKay. "I would've hated having to accost you to keep your mouth busy."

John grimaced. "I take it we had company walk by?"

"Two," Ronon informed him. "And they looked interested in us. We should go back."

They did make their way home, and again, with always someone on either side of John. While he was thankful, it was also a little claustrophobic. When he tripped, they yanked him back so fast he would've sworn they gave him whiplash. John told them to relax, but the truth was, if he had fallen, he would've had that much harder of a time walking with confidence afterwards. Unnerving how scary such a simple thing as walking could be.

Teyla made dinner, declining Rodney's offer again, and they spent the evening discussing the merits of football versus hockey. Ronon was on Sheppard's side with football, while Teyla thought they were both pointless. When she described a 'real game', the rest of them, white-faced, told her "she won" and found a reason to leave quickly, hands purposefully covering their crotches.

Later, when he sat on the porch, she joined him. He listened as she moved closer and sat next to him. "John, I am sorry for taking you by surprise…earlier."

He grinned into the night; to him it was always night. "Guess we're even," he replied casually. "And besides, you saved me from Rodney's clutches, which I think leaves me in your debt."

There was something about Teyla that he'd never fully realized before. She didn't laugh. She smiled. And it wasn't a difference he'd truly appreciated before now. He could almost hear it. But it was probably his imagination filling in for what he expected using past experiences, more than anything. Could you really hear a smile? It didn't matter, because right now, he knew she would've been smiling, and probably that same brief smile that betrayed her mild amusement, but was always dampened with the reality of the situation at hand. And right now, their situation was pretty grim. Since he couldn't see, he wondered if she even bothered with the smile. It was hard to stop annoying thoughts like that when all you had was your own isolated world to dwell in.

"John?"

He offered his own brief smile. "Sorry, just thinking."

"If you ever…need to talk," she said, hesitatingly.

There was a moment where the temptation was strong. Where he wanted to tell her that if he never flew again, he wasn't sure he'd survive. Where he wanted to confess the gut-wrenching fears that they'd fail, and spend the rest of their lives living underground. But as he opened his mouth, he asked instead, "How is your arm?"

Teyla had taken on the role of seeing to everyone else's needs, and he often forgot she had her own. He waited, and she moved restlessly. "It is still sore," she admitted. "But grows less so every day."

"You don't have to be strong for all of us." He wanted her to know that she could confide in him. "It's been hard on everyone, go ahead and complain."

"I came out here to comfort you," she said, and there was warmth and irony in her voice. "But if you want a complaint, you are leaving your clothes on the floor."

He chuckled ruefully. "Guess I walked right into that one."

A light touch on his arm, and she was standing. "You could say that," she agreed. "I am going to sleep. Do you need anything?"

"Just my -" he stumbled, not wanting to say it, and sound so pathetic. "Guitar," he said.

If she'd caught it, she didn't let on. She murmured good night, and left him alone. Come to think of it, a guitar wouldn't have been a bad thing to have right then. Music was a good way to lose yourself for a little while, and he didn't need to see the strings to know the chords. Maybe he and McKay could start up a band and lease out as entertainment for the city, staying on as morale providers. He snorted. They'd probably end up being more for comedic relief, but Rodney could play the piano. John was curious to hear him play. The two seemed incongruous with one another. Piano and McKay. Then again, Rodney's shakiness made the prospect of his playing seem dimmer than John's.

Shit. He let himself slump against the wall. The porch wasn't even a porch, just the area from the front of their house to the curb, five feet, because he'd paced it to find out. Rodney had asked him what he was doing, and John had said he was finding out how far he could go before he ran the risk of getting run over. He stayed there for a long time, thinking too much about what could go wrong in the coming weeks. Eventually, he went to bed, telling Rodney to go back to sleep when his clumsy movements woke him. John fell asleep to dreams of falling down long, dark tunnels.

OoO

The rest of the week, they played up Rodney's growing cabin fever, which wasn't hard to do since it wasn't fake, for either of them. Sitting around was beginning to wear on their nerves. There's only so many rounds of hangman, and crossword puzzles, and Rock, Paper, Scissors that one can handle; not to mention he had to take McKay's word on the latter, and John's losing streak was a little suspicious when you considered it was a game of chance.

There were no weekends on Nokomis, just rest days every six work days. Rodney finally staged an explosion, and insisted Teyla take him to see Gadmere to get some kind of job. He carried on to the point where John slapped his back a little harder than was necessary and whispered at the same time, "Overkill!"

Rodney had coughed "Jealous," and hurried away with Teyla.

When they got back, Rodney was a proud member of the Nokomis work force, with a job at the power plant. John told him congratulations, and then forced the smile to stay on his face so long it hurt.

It was all going according to plan, but the sudden reality that John would be alone, really alone, hit him, hard. It was one thing when he'd go off to sit by himself, but it was another to realize that nobody would be near if he needed them during the day. It freaked him out all over again, like what he'd felt when he'd first woken up in the hospital.

As soon as they'd finished eating dinner, he headed out to the porch. Most of the time, they respected his need to be alone, but not this time. Rodney came out and plopped down beside him. "You might want to control your happiness," he warned. "You might damage something with all the leaping about."

"I'm happy," John insisted. That same painful smile still plastered on his face.

"Ah, I see. My mistake, the look on your face, it must be that you have a bad case of hemorrhoids then, well, of course, that makes sense, my face would look like that too -"

The smile slipped. "I hate you."

Rodney breathed deep. "I'm feeling the love tonight. I can ask for an assistant, and conveniently, there you are."

"I don't want to be your assistant," John grated.

"Then what?" Rodney finally snapped. "I thought you wanted this?"

Yeah. He wanted to be left alone all day, with only the darkness staring back at him, and hoping they'd come back at the end of the day. It was stupid. He knew it. That's why he wasn't going to admit it. But, God, he had no way of telling time, no way of knowing when to expect them back except an internal progression that would probably run far too slow, or fast, depending on the point of view.

"It's not that," he protested. "I'm glad you get to go play scientist again." Always had to remember the game they played.

McKay was quiet, and John knew he was still there only because he hadn't heard Rodney get up and move away. A few minutes went by, and John's nerves twitched.

"Six letter word for frightened," Rodney said flatly.

John closed his eyes, and let his chin drop down to his chest. Why was he as readable as a book now? He didn't answer because they both knew McKay had struck oil.

When McKay touched his shoulder, it was with his shaky hand, making a point. Then he climbed to his feet, and left John. He was pretty sure he knew the message Rodney was trying to send. And John didn't know what was worse. The fact that Rodney was being the voice of reason, or that he was listening to Rodney.

It turned out to be as disconcerting as John had anticipated. Time dragged, and there were more than a few times during the first day that he was certain their gig was up, and Gadmere had taken his team into custody, leaving him here to fend for himself.

Then they arrived home, Teyla and Ronon first, with a weary McKay trailing after. John knew Rodney was tired because his feet weren't coming off the floor every time he took a step. Rodney ate the dinner Teyla made, and headed off to his bed. It kind of worried him that McKay's health was that fragile. One day of work, and he was done for, but Ronon told him to let Rodney sleep and to stop hovering.

John did, reluctantly. The next day he tried not to lose it when the seconds ticked endlessly in his mind into minutes and then hours. He finally heard a sound at the door, and turned his face towards it, relieved.

When he heard steps walk in, and no one call out, John got nervous. He forced himself to stay down, stay calm, and he called out, "Rodney?" When there was no answer, but he heard more feet shuffle in the main room, not more than ten paces from where he was sitting, and an odd hissing sound started, the sinking feeling in his gut hardened. His sixth sense was screaming something was very wrong.

"Who's there," he snarled. He wouldn't let them see him sweat. Period.

Suddenly, the feet rushed at him, and more than one pair of arms grabbed him, and wrestled him down after he'd tried to get to his feet. Now fighting back in full rage, John kicked and punched anything that he could connect with. He was rewarded with grunts and an angry voice snapped, "Knock him out, before he kills one of us!"

That's right, you bastards, he thought grimly. It was his last thought, because right after, someone stuck a needle in his thigh and the drug hit his system full blast. His punches became weaker and uncoordinated, and his thoughts slurred into drugged stupor. "Roodd…ney," he forced out through uncooperative lips before he lost consciousness and a heavier darkness flew away with him.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry about the wait, chapter six and seven were new material so it took a little more time than I'd anticipated and it also means this is going to be a bit longer than I'd thought. Hope it was worth it! Thanks again to Linzi, gaffer and Shelly for beta, handholding and ideas!**  
**

**Chapter Seven**

There were a lot of things that made waking up from a sedative an uncomfortable process. The cotton-mouth, grogginess, and queasy stomach were the top three. But, waking up from sedatives when you were blind, that was a whole new level of bad.

This would make the second time he'd woken up this way since they'd fallen through the old airshaft, and unlike the previous time when John hadn't understood enough of what was going on to be truly worried, he did this time. Someone had walked into their house, tackled and drugged him, and now, as he tried to keep lunch down while listening to the sounds around him, John knew he wasn't going to like what happened when they knew he was awake.

He was on his side, lying on a bed, and in the distance he could hear water dripping. Leaky plumbing? Maybe somewhere in an older part of the city, somewhere that wasn't busy so they wouldn't be stumbled upon accidentally.

A scraping sound caused him to breathe slower and he tried to keep his eyes still. He needed to gather as much intel as possible before they knew he'd woken from the drug. As the sound moved nearer, he worried that there wouldn't be much choice.

"Open your eyes, Colonel, we know it's wore off."

The voice was deep, and raspy, like an old man that had smoked too many cigars in his lifetime. John had two options. Ignore him, and keep pretending, or face it now. His situation wasn't going to change as long as he pretended to still be drugged. Granted, it could go two ways. It would either improve, or it'd get worse. John's optimism urged him to believe it'd improve. After all, if killing him had been their intention, there wouldn't have been any need for all this effort of drugging and sneaking him off somewhere.

Pushing himself up, which was difficult because his feet and wrists were tied together, John peered into the never-ending gloom. "Great. I've been kidnapped by George Burns." The silent response was, of course, expected. He rolled his eyes, and hunched over to ease the ache in his back. Always make them think you're more confident than you really are.

"Judging from the tone of your voice, I'll assume that was meant as a joke," the man rasped dryly. "We aren't here to hurt you."

A loud shout came from across the room. "Speak for yer'self, Groton, he blacked my eye and I lost a tooth!"

"Groton?" John wondered aloud. "Doctor Groton?"

The scuffing sound of feet moving away and then something slammed into…a wall? "You imbecile! Why don't you go through our roster of members while you're at it? Tell him where our next meeting is at, or the name of our leader," grated the doctor.

"Don't get your…wind pants…in a bunch," John said. "I don't care who you are. But let me guess, you guys are the seedy underground rebels, and you want us to help you escape?" John had a hard time believing anyone would want to live like this, so it wasn't a stretch to figure out that two and two made four. The problem was in believing that these were the legitimate dissidents, and not plants to lure them into a set-up to find out Sheppard's intentions.

The feet walked towards him again. John really, really hated not being able to see. He knew there were at least two of these guys in the room, and he'd wager there were more. The footsteps came to a stop in front of him. "You believe it's a trap," Groton stated. "That this is a set-up where we get you to agree to help, then turn you over to Gadmere and his cronies."

John merely smiled good-naturedly. "That pretty much is it."

"We arranged for Ronon and Teyla to have the filing jobs." Groton moved forward, and the popping sound of the doctor's knee alerted John that he'd knelt down in front of him. There were tugs at his feet, and he realized they were being untied. Groton continued to talk. "Surely you considered that was more than coincidence?"

Coincidence, good luck – yeah, they'd wondered if the job was too good to be true. His feet free, John rolled his ankles, feeling the pins and needles as the blood began to flow freely again. "That's not a lot to put our lives on the line for." If this whole charade was a double play, then he was screwed. On the one hand, Groton was going to offer help in exchange for taking the members of the underground with them, if and when they did manage to escape. But on the other, if it was to lure him into going along with it, they'd be caught and who knows what would be done to him and his team?

"We know you've inserted Rodney McKay into the power plant, in hopes of creating a diversion. Is that enough?"

John felt his mouth go dry, which was pretty bad, considering the aforementioned cotton-mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a frustrated sound to his right, and a woman's voice snapped. "We might as well not bother with them. They're useless. He's never going to trust us."

He narrowed his eyes in the direction the voice had come from. He might not be able to see, but he could hear, and that sounded a lot like – "Tamar?"

There was some more swearing to his other side. He shrugged. "I'm sorry, good memory, and besides, when you can't see, you start to remember voices a lot more than you normally would." John wasn't really sorry. "Besides, I didn't ask you to bring me here."

There was a sudden rush of voices chorusing together about how this was wasting time, and some other not so complimentary things. At least once, John exclaimed "Hey!" when it ventured into the derogatory. He even added, "I bet you park in handicap spots, too." It was a pointless jab, because they had no reference for it, but the comments that he was blind and would only hinder any escape, ate into his own internal fears.

Finally, Groton, clearly the leader of this particular bunch, shouted for everyone to be quiet. "John, I'm going to tell you plainly far more than I should, because by trusting you, I've given you a weapon against us."

Sheppard figured Groton was right about that one. If they let him go, they were taking a big chance. There wouldn't be anything stopping him from going to Gadmere and explaining he had some bad apples in the bunch.

"Gadmere ordered your residence to be placed under surveillance. It was. But the people running it are my people. We know you don't have any intention of remaining in Nokomis, and we offer our help in exchange for a way out with you. Not all of us agree with Gadmere's administration." The raspy voice grew tired. "There was a time when our people had free will, when we could live on the surface if we chose to take the risk. The airshaft you fell down was the last remaining option for our escape. We'd been planning it for two years, they are always watching, and in less than two minutes, your team ruined everything."

"Believe me when I say we didn't want to fall down and ruin your little escape plan," John drawled. In the end it didn't matter, because they had each other in a stand-off. "So, if we tell on you, you tell on us."

Groton shifted on his feet. "Basically, yes."

"Okay," John said. "You've got a deal." What else was he supposed to say, no? So then they could kill him, dispose of his body, and go kill his friends next? These guys were clearly amateurs. Of course, they were amateurs that had the upper hand and could kill them all, starting with him. He didn't know if they were the kind to do that, or not. Which was the point, he didn't know. But, they did have the promise of taking each other down if either one backed out. If it wasn't a set-up.

"Good."

John strained to hear what was going on. He heard movements, and it took all his will power not to flinch when he heard multiple footsteps approaching. Now that he'd agreed to what they wanted, they'd be taking him back. How they intended to do that, he wasn't sure, but he doubted they'd transport him out in the open.

Groton was still close, and now he leaned even further into John's personal space. "We'll be in touch with you again. Remember, my people are running the surveillance on your home. The hissing sound you heard when we entered earlier was a device scrambling any other outside eyes and ears that might be pointed your way. The device was fastened inside to the right of your door. If your door is closed, you won't need to worry, but if you ever need to leave and don't want outside activities being picked up, press it. It remains activated for two minutes, and will jam any electronics in a mile radius."

"Aren't you worried we'll use it to plan a double-cross against you?" John had to ask. It might be stupid, but he had to get more of a feel for who these people were. What he would've given to be able to look in the man's face and get a feel for his trustworthiness.

"I am," admitted Groton, surprising John. He'd thought they would've had some kind of plan to work around that problem. "But remember, I was part of the team of doctors that put you and your team back together again. You can learn a lot about a person's character when they are at their worse, physically and emotionally. The reason you're here, and I'm here, and you aren't in a jail languishing under Gadmere's justice, is because I think I can trust you. I know there's no way for you to feel the same, but remember, we could've turned you in at any time, and we didn't."

As John was moving to form a reply, he was grabbed on each side. God, damn it! He'd known they'd surrounded him, but what good had it done? He'd heard the movements, knew something bad was coming, and still it hadn't done shit for him because he was blind. He couldn't even see when danger was coming a mile away. "You don't have to knock me out, I'll go quietly," he offered hurriedly.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but it won't work that way if we get pulled over. Don't fight," urged Groton. "We must get you back before your friends return home and realize you're gone, and go to the authorities. There's only one way to safely transport you without possibly giving our presence away, and I'm afraid that means you get to be 'heart attack victim number two' for the day."

As the needled pierced his other thigh this time, John struggled anyway. Telling him not to was like telling the drowning man to quit paddling. But as the drug whisked him back into unconsciousness, he at least knew how they'd gotten away with kidnapping him, and boy was his team going to be pissed when they got home…

OoO

"_Oh, that's helpful, move the unconscious man around like a string puppet."_

"_It gets the blood flowing."_

"_Rodney, Ronon, you two are not helping. We need to find out what has happened to John."_

"I wash drugged," slurred Sheppard. Shit. "Move," he ordered sloppily, pushing away from them, and lurching to his feet.

Strong hands that he was pretty sure were Ronon's, grabbed and shoved him back down. He groaned, didn't they get that he was going to be sick? Two doses of the sedative so close together, and his stomach had hung up a sign saying 'on strike' and left. It felt like everything he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours was hanging there, sloshing and –

"John, right here," Teyla said, gently guiding his hands to the basin, and helping him to his side.

That was all he needed. Lunch made an appearance first, then breakfast. When it was over, he rolled away, thankful someone took the basin. He felt sweaty and sick, and if Groton was anywhere near, he would've happily punched the guy. His head was lifted, and a glass of water touched his lips. John pushed it away and tried to pull back into the bed. "No, not now," he said tiredly.

"There are pills here, with a note saying they will help. They are from Doctor Groton. It also says you will understand and that you should take one now, and the other in eight hours if the symptoms persist."

Sheppard closed his eyes tight against another wave of nausea. Teyla sounded confused, and he couldn't blame her. "When'd you get back?"

"Apparently too late," snapped Rodney. John heard angry footsteps fade away and knew McKay had stormed out of the room.

Frustration sucked. This time he let Teyla help him get a pill down, and then he let Ronon help him get changed into their weird version of pajamas. When it was over, he was left feeling like ten shades of white, and could only hope he would fall back unconscious, soon.

"Ronon, you still here?" he asked after Teyla had gotten his blankets adjusted.

"Yeah, you want me to find these guys and teach them some manners?" he asked gruffly.

Despite how miserable he felt, John couldn't hold back a wry chuckle. "Maybe later," he said. "Go make sure Rodney's not cooking dinner." That was McKay's way of coping lately. He cooked. The problem was, he sucked at cooking. Everything he made tasted the same. Might not have been a bad thing if everything tasted like chocolate, or peanut butter, or better yet, the two together – but everything came out tasting like peas. And thinking about the mushy insides of cooked peas and picturing the puke-green color made him hope fervently that the pill kicked in soon.

When the hop-thunk faded, John breathed easier knowing that Ronon would be there to keep Rodney from losing it. Second day of being home alone and playing Mr. Mom, and John got kidnapped, and drugged. What was it with him, seriously? Was there some kind of cosmic karma that had painted a target on his back and armed the galaxy with big ass 'hit me' darts?

"You should rest," whispered Teyla.

Crap. He'd forgot she was there. She'd been so quiet – "They're gonna help us," he explained, or tried to.

"I am not sure if this kind of…help…is worth having," she said stiffly, brushing the sweat-soaked strands of hair from his eyes.

"Beggars can't be choosers," he murmured. It felt painfully good to be back with his team, and not afraid of every sound around him. The pill was beginning to kick in, and sleepiness crept up. She was upset, he could tell from the tense silence, and on a whim, John lifted a hand towards her face.

She captured it with her own as his fingers trailed a line of wetness, lowering it carefully back to his bed. "We were not there for you."

"You're crying," surprised, he wondered if she'd done it before.

Teyla wiped his forehead once more, and pulled back. "It is only natural; we were very worried when we found you unconscious."

"I know," he replied softly. It was so quiet. A breath sounded like a shout. "It's not your fault." His eyelids were slipping down on their own accord. "We'll get out of this," he assured her, blinking to keep himself awake. As he drifted away, John thought he'd heard her say that she didn't see how.

OoO

When he woke up, John almost felt human again. It was late, and McKay was in bed, his even breathing comforting Sheppard back into a drowsy state. His stomach growled, and he lay there debating whether he wanted to leave the comfort of his bed to eat, or stay hungry and go back to sleep. In the end, he decided he could always eat in the morning, and fell back to sleep, counting Rodney's breaths instead of sheep. And he refused to think that he'd only stayed in bed because of any fear of going out there alone.

The next day he explained what had happened, and showed the device, which was right where Groton had said it would be. McKay and Ronon were pissed, and Teyla was unnaturally quiet. John asked Rodney if he'd managed to come up with an idea for rigging a diversion. When he said he actually had, then it was time to look at the city plans for possible locations on making their escape to the surface.

Now that they knew they could talk without the wrong people hearing, it was easy to make progress, but oddly enough, John missed the crosswords. Everyone had a rest day, and by the time night closed on them, they had a rough plan. McKay was building a remote control that could disable power to over half the city by shorting out a main. While the power was down, they could work under cover of darkness and cut through the steel in an area that wasn't far from their house. Groton's people would need to get them a blowtorch, or something that worked the same, to do the cutting.

The city plans showed it as being an old access route, and if Rodney had read the plans correctly, it looked almost like an elevator shaft. If that was true, then getting up might be a lot easier than trying to find a way to climb out. It was something they could ask Groton about.

Teyla got up from the couch as they finished, "I am going to prepare dinner." As she said it, Rodney was rising from next to John. "Rodney, I do not need help," she said sternly, before leaving for the kitchen.

If he wasn't so worried about her, John probably would've laughed, as it was, he leaned closer to McKay. "Does she seem…off to you?"

"Off?" spluttered Rodney. "I didn't even say anything and she just yelled at me."

"She didn't yell at you," Ronon pointed out. "McKay, you can't cook. Accept it."

"Knock it off," warned John. "I'm serious. She cried last night, when I was sick." He felt a little bad telling on her, but John didn't need her falling into depression now. He needed his team in as good as shape as they could be.

"She's moody," Ronon agreed, and he jerked back and forth on John's left.

Sheppard kicked a foot at the runner. "Stop scratching, you big baby, it's coming off next week. Has she been moody before?"

Rodney snapped his fingers. "PMS! She's got that woman thing going on." There was a pause and then McKay dropped back, bumping into John. The couch wasn't big enough for the three of them. "Oh, we are so dead."

"Damn," John muttered. It made sense. They'd been here for about six weeks. She probably had one in the hospital. "No wonder she's so emotional."

"What's PMS?" asked Ronon, confused.

Rodney snorted. "Painful Men Syndrome," he joked. "It's when all men should run for cover from women."

There was a loud bang, and Teyla said coldly. "I do not have PMS. What I do have is a house full of men who fail to clean up after themselves, continue to stay up late, eat poorly, heal slowly and get kidnapped and drugged."

"Oh, we are so not doing this," Rodney exclaimed, jerking so fast that it caused John to slide into him. "No confrontations. The sharing of all bodily functions stops now. I didn't marry any of you, we were not born to the same parents, and I have no moral obligations. We're a team, as in, we work together…oh geez, this is…I was never this close, even with my sister."

As politically incorrect as McKay tended to be, John had to agree with him. This brought a whole new meaning to the word teamwork. Even on other off world missions, they hadn't been forced into this level of intimacy with one another. Still, the situation was what it was, and Teyla was struggling right now more than the rest of them.

He was about to try and defuse the situation when Ronon opened his big mouth. "I had a sister," he confided. "She got like that once a month, too. I used to go on extra training sessions until she got married."

John cringed at the expected blow-up from Teyla, but it never came. Instead, he heard everyone get dead silent, and then footsteps stormed by him and out the door. He didn't know who to turn to first so instead he looked ahead. "Did you have to do that?" he berated.

"Do what?" Ronon rumbled. "She's being too sensitive."

"Right, and she was being too sensitive when she kept sticking a pillow under your leg in the evening when it hurt," John mentioned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. God, what a mess. "And McKay, her sensitivity saved you from cleaning the bathroom, and having a clean shaven face without losing half of your chin because your hand shakes so much you can't do it."

He got to his feet. "Face it, we screwed up. She's been pulling more weight than any of us, and when she finally needs some understanding, we ducked when we should've weaved." John reached to his side and pulled Rodney up, accidentally jabbing him in the chest before finding McKay's arm. "Now we've got to fix it."

Stepping forward first was a mistake, and he knew it as soon as his foot met Rodney's, and he started falling forward. John remembered that thought he'd had the other day, the one about if he actually did fall, he'd probably be scared of walking alone again…yeah. John did fall this time, and as he was trying to grab on to Rodney or Ronon to catch himself, he didn't get his hands up fast enough. He didn't even manage to soften it with a shoulder, because he couldn't see that the damn floor was coming up that fast, and with excruciating pain, John's face got personal with the ground.

"John!"

"Sheppard -"

"Oh, God," moaned John. He let Rodney roll him over, because his hands were now fixed firmly over his nose, and blood was seeping through his fingers. "Towel." It was trickling down his face and on to his neck.

Rodney rushed away, his feet heading in the direction of the kitchen. Ronon shouted for Teyla, and she must've only stormed as far as the porch, because she came in moments later and asked crossly, "Yes?" before seeing John on the floor with blood oozing down his face. "What have you done?" she asked, hurrying towards him. She sounded just like his mom did that time he'd crashed his bike into the motor home at the base of the hill. So much for riding with no hands.

"I tripped," John explained irritably. "We were trying to find you and apologize."

Rodney was back, and shoved a towel in his face. He gingerly pressed it against John's nose. "Pinch it," instructed McKay. "And tilt your head back."

John did, and tried not to gag against the blood that started to go down his throat. "Don't you have something to say, Rodney," he prodded, giving in to the tickling need to cough.

"Do not tilt your head back," instructed Teyla, guiding his head into a down position. "Doctor Beckett taught us that it is safer in this manner."

"I used to get these all the time as a kid, and my mom always had me tilt my head back," argued McKay. It was Rodney's hands this time that tilted John's head up. The blood going into his stomach was beginning to make him feel sick.

Silence again, but after a few beats of time, Teyla guided John's chin downward with gentle fingers. "I went to the training, and I trust Doctor Beckett over your mother."

Moments later, Rodney's longer fingers titled his head back up. "It always worked for me."

John had had enough. Of course, that could be from the blood that was once again running down the back of his throat. "Stop it," he said, his voice cracking as he gave in to another cough. "You're making me seasick." John cleared his throat and tried again. "Rodney, you've got something to say, and arguing about the right position of my head isn't what I meant."

The lack of a response made John wonder if Rodney was going to give, but just when he was about to prod the man, McKay spoke reluctantly. "Yes, yes. Teyla, I'm sorry. I was rude and inconsiderate, PMS does not stand for 'painful men syndrome' and please don't let me butcher my face tomorrow." McKay may have rushed it, and he may have said it grudgingly, but John figured it sounded genuine enough. What surprised him came a moment later. "And maybe my mom was -" there was an awkward sound like a cough and a huff mixed together before Rodney continued, "- wrong."

"I accept your apology," Teyla said, and she tilted John's head firmly down. "Keep it there, John."

He swallowed against the salty metallic tang in his throat; maybe he would listen to Teyla and not Rodney on where to keep his head. With McKay's apology finished, that left "Ronon," called John, his voice muffled by the towel and the position of his head.

The runner shifted awkwardly behind him. "I'm…"

"Ronon -" Come on, big guy, John urged inwardly. "Just get it out. It's like pulling a band-aid, the faster you do it, the quicker it'll be over with."

"Fine," Ronon grated. "Sorry. I'm sorry. There. That's all you'll get out of me." Hop-thunks echoed across the room, but he paused before he left and called back, "And…thanks for the…pillows."

The sudden laughter startled both John, and judging from Rodney's leg knocking into his side, McKay also. Teyla was laughing, and it wasn't small or light, or short, but deep and long and infectious. John found himself grinning around a blood-soaked towel, while Rodney asked them both what was so funny.

"Go fix dinner, Rodney," Teyla said warmly. "I will get John cleaned up."

"Really?" McKay sounded as amazed as John felt. "Right, I'll just…go make dinner." He got up, and walked off towards the kitchen.

Sheppard shook his head. "I'm not eating tonight."

Teyla pulled the towel away, and tilted his head up. "Yes, you will. The bleeding has stopped. " She pulled on his arm. "Come to the bathroom. I'm afraid you are a mess."

"Aren't we all," he muttered.

She guided him towards the rope. "If I was more emotional than usual, it is only a normal reaction to the situation and nothing more," she explained next to him.

"We didn't mean -"

"Yes, you did," she said dryly. "But men can be blind to many things."

The wording hit them both at the same time. She started rushing into an apology, and he started telling her it wasn't important, and all they accomplished was talking over each other. John stopped, and let go of the rope, fumbling till he had both her shoulders in his hands. "Teyla, stop worrying about everything."

Things were quiet in the hall. John could hear some banging coming from the kitchen, and then there was an intermittent thud coming from Ronon's room. He'd gotten a small bouncy ball last week and had taken to bouncing it off the wall, driving everyone nuts with the noise. "I thought you hid that?" he asked, turning his head towards the noise.

Teyla shrugged under his hands. "I did. He found it. If I get it again, and promise to not worry quite as much, will you hide it in your room?"

"Deal," agreed John. He let his hands fall, and she guided him the rest of the way to the bathroom. "And I'll even do one better. I'll give the ball to McKay. He'll have it painted like Mars and part of a model solar system by the end of the week."

"Maybe…you should just hide it," she offered diplomatically.

John smiled. Yeah, maybe he should. McKay would probably be pissed if Ronon played handball with Mars. Teyla finished cleaning his face, and they went to the kitchen. John groaned again. Dinner. Two more weeks, he thought. If everything went right, just two more weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** I hate this fic. I love you guys. I hate this fic. I love you guys. I HATE this fic, but I LOVE you guys. (you see my conundrum?) Okay, when I say thanks to my betas this time, I REALLY mean thanks. Gaffer, Linzi, Shelly and Kylen. Special thanks to Kylen for reigning me in and telling me to slow down. I've got to put a plug in here for this writer, because her work is wonderful! They've been holding my hand, listening, emailing, offering input and helping me through this monster. I know, now you're all thinking 'shut up already, and on to the fic' so, here you go...**  
**

**Chapter Eight**

Sheppard always thought it was ironic how time could seem to vary, depending on the situation at hand. Back on Earth, two weeks would've been like a drop in a gallon bucket; there and gone in the blink of an eye. The routine of work and play blended into a finely tuned rhythm, and like a satisfying classic song on the radio, it played itself out and left you wanting to hear it again. He'd felt that way too many times since Dex and Mitch had died. Too many wild nights, celebrating missions that had ended in the good guys winning, and then they were gone, just like that. There had been a time where he would've given anything to go back, just once, and relive one of those nights.

But time wasn't forgiving, and he couldn't even say for sure that he'd ask for it again, if given the opportunity. Atlantis had changed his perspective. Time was relative, and not just the Einstein relative. John figured that there was either too much time, or not enough. And there wasn't any pause, rewind or fast forward. It was there, and it rolled on by, regardless of how much you wished it to turn back or move forward.

The two weeks that John had told himself wouldn't be that bad, were actually just that bad. The days seemed to take weeks, and the weeks felt like months. It hadn't just been like a baby crawling, but a snail, on a cold wet morning. Time inched. John tried not to blame his blindness, and the fact that he had to stay behind while his team were out there working and putting their lives at risk, but he knew the only one he was kidding was himself. Being useless wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd be, but that was exactly what he was. Rodney was building the remote device, sneaking parts home every night, while Ronon and Teyla continued to search for another set of city plans to verify the one they'd already copied.

The earlier confrontation with Teyla had served as a temporary release valve for the building pressure. John had hoped it would've lasted, but it didn't. When Ronon couldn't find his ball two days later, he threatened McKay, until John growled that it was under his bed, and that maybe if Ronon had stuck to bouncing it outside, they wouldn't have hidden it in the first place. That started an argument that ended in all four of them not talking to each other. The next morning, they acted like it had never happened, and tried to get along.

Tried was the operative word. Too many nights, they all went to bed pissed at each other. A lot of those nights, Sheppard sat on the porch, alone. He was beginning to accept that the blindness was permanent, which also meant that Rodney's shaking hand and weakness was too. There'd been a time a few nights ago where John had stumbled, and almost burnt his hand on the stove when he tried to catch himself. It'd stirred the anger and frustration all over again, and he'd thrown the dish in his hand, sending shattering pieces of glass all across the kitchen.

John hadn't even had the satisfaction of storming from the room. Instead, knowing that all the eyes of his team were boring into his back, he'd fumbled for the rope, latched on, and followed it out to the porch, before throwing himself on the steel ground and pushing his back against the wall. He'd sat there, furious, and wanting, like he'd never wanted before in his life, to hit something. Then Rodney had come after him.

At first he didn't know it was McKay. The door opened, and he listened to the footsteps. When the body settled next to his, he asked, "Who got the short straw this time?"

"Six letter word for 'the damned'?"

If he hadn't been so pissed, he would've smiled. "Rodney, go back inside, tell them you talked to me, and I'm fine. No one will know any differently."

"I would," he stated. Long legs pushed into John's, and Rodney's voice was a mixture of worry and irritability. "So, what was the tantrum about, anyway? Because if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you temporarily regressed to childhood."

He couldn't see McKay, he couldn't see the sky, the buildings, the clothes, hell, he couldn't even see when a damn bug was crawling on him, and they'd been right when they said the one thing Nokomis had was bugs. That was the point, he couldn't see. "I'm blind, Rodney. One tantrum isn't asking too much."

"You're not -"

Rodney had instantly gone into denying it, but John shook his head. "It's not getting any better, and it's been almost two months. I'm sick of telling myself that it'll get better, or that it's going to heal magically overnight." John didn't think there was a way to express how fucking depressing it was to go to bed at night, hoping and praying and wishing harder than you'd just about wished for anything before in your life, that tomorrow would be the day that it'd be different, that it'd be better, or lighter, or something, and then waking up to the same impenetrable darkness tinged with the taunting edge of grayness that had never changed. "I can't do it anymore," he said, haltingly, painfully. "I can't keep going to bed hoping for a miracle." John needed McKay to understand. To get it. But he should've known better.

"It's not a miracle for a brain injury to improve," Rodney snapped. "It's science, and it happens, so quit feeling sorry for yourself."

It was harsh, and it cut John deeper than he would've guessed, because more than anything, he'd fought the hardest not to feel sorry for himself. It hadn't been easy, and he was pretty sure there were moments when he'd failed, but damn it, he'd done his best, and to have McKay blithely accuse him of wallowing in self-pity wasn't helping.

A sharp comeback was right there, and he was literally seconds from delivering it, when a realization snaked into him with lightning reality. "You can't accept it," he accused softly. "It's not about me, it's about you."

The sudden jerk of McKay's legs told John he'd hit a bulls eye. "Are you delirious? I'm not the one throwing dishes across the kitchen. Seriously, fever, hallucinating?"

A cool hand was up against his forehead, and he hadn't seen it coming. John knocked it away and knew he was right. "You kept telling yourself that both of us would get better, and when I didn't, you had to start facing that you weren't going to either – that's why you're pissed. Because I'm trying to accept that nothing's going to change." Son of a bitch, things in the past few weeks solidified, and Rodney's whining, and cooking obsession, and everything, it all came together like puzzle pieces in the center of a jigsaw.

In the wake of John's accusation, the tension in the air thickened. He was sure if he reached a hand between them, he could almost touch it. Sheppard let his head rest against the back wall, and tried to give McKay time. And maybe time was the one thing they needed now, because the words came.

"I keep telling myself that a shaky hand is nothing compared to blindness," Rodney started talking, and when he did, it wasn't reluctantly or slow, but sharp and with an edge of surprise that made John think Rodney hadn't even realized he was going to talk until he actually was. "But it's funny how much that never really seems to help." A bitter laugh and McKay added, "Really didn't realize I was that much of a selfish bastard."

"You can't rate what you've lost against someone else." God knows, he'd done the same. He'd sat there and told himself that of all his team, he'd gotten the worst of it, and inwardly he'd wished it had been someone else. Then John had hated himself for thinking that because they were his team. His responsibility. If anyone should've came out worse, it should've been him. Nothing like being made to walk the talk, and find out just how short you come up in the march.

There was a pause before McKay said, "Don't tell me what I can't do." John let his head roll slightly to the side, so that it was facing Rodney, or at least he was pretty sure it was. As he was about to say something, what John wasn't exactly sure yet, he felt McKay move, and knew he was standing up. Rodney added from up above him, "It only encourages me."

John shook his head, and breathed deep as Rodney's footsteps faded. He let his head slide back, and closed his eyes. They were so screwed. The walking wounded. Ronon had improved attitude wise, because the cast was coming off soon, and Teyla had retreated under a stoic wall after the blow-up. Sheppard knew it was a vulnerability she now regretted, but he also knew, when this was said and done with and they were safely back on Atlantis, they were going to talk about it, whether he had to tie them all into chairs to do it. Eventually, he made his way through the quiet house, and went to sleep.

The day that Ronon's cast was to come off finally arrived, and there was a first for everything. Not one grumpy mood as they shared breakfast, and even though everyone had to work like good little Nokomisians, John felt a true glimmer of hope in his black world. This was the last hurdle they needed to get to, in order for them to move forward with their escape plans. They'd actually made it, and though Teyla still had problems with rotating her arm fully, between her and Ronon, the two of them were almost as able bodied as they could hope for; healed enough to compensate for the other two that hadn't been so lucky. He should've known it was too good to be true, that nothing had been that easy.

John listened from the couch where he'd been sitting, waiting for them to come home. What he could do during the day was pretty limited, and pretty boring. Nap, walk around the house following ropes, nap some more. The upside, he was never so rested before in his entire life. Sometimes he'd walk around the house, letting go of the ropes to see how accurate he could be on his own. Then, other times, he played mental chess with himself, which brought new meaning to the word stalemate. But a lot of the time he sat on the couch, listening, especially when his internal clock nagged at him that it was about time for them to return. That enough time had passed, and his solitary isolation was almost over for another day.

He'd never really gotten past the surge of fear that'd hit whenever the door would open. Being taken once by force had left a lasting impression that seemed to linger despite how many times he'd told himself it wasn't a big deal. He couldn't figure out if it was because of the fear that there were dissidents that might come for him again without any warning, or if it was the fear of realizing how helpless he was in this condition. Either way, it all boiled down to the fact that when he did hear the door opening, it always sent an uncomfortable spike of adrenaline through his body. Wandering deeply in his mental ramblings, John almost missed the sound of the door.

"Teyla?" Sheppard tensed. "McKay?"

There was a whisper of clothing and the familiar smell eased him even before the words did. "Yes, John."

There was something in her voice – "What's wrong?"

"Ronon's been arrested," she said urgently. "A few hours ago."

Heavy steps walked towards John, and the body dropped next to him on the couch. Sheppard turned towards him. "Rodney?"

The shoulder touching John's shrugged. "I'm surprised it hasn't happened before now."

Damn it! Ronon had gone to get his cast removed this morning. He had to wonder at the timing. Was it because now with his cast off, Ronon was a threat – a risk? "Did they nab him at the hospital, or after?" He automatically turned to the place Teyla had been last.

"I am over here, John," she called from the bedrooms. "It was after."

Sheppard really hated when they did that. If they walked when he was talking, or someone else was talking to him, he often missed it, and didn't realize they'd changed locations. "Did they say anything to you when they took him?"

"The woman in charge of monitoring our work found Ronon searching files that we were not allowed access to. He believed these files would not only verify the information we had, but also, indicate the structure behind the steel wall so we would know beforehand what was needed to get to the surface from there. I do not know where they have taken him."

Before he could formulate a reply, there was banging on the door. John was moving to get up and answer, because even though he was blind, he was still the one in charge of his team. Blindness hadn't taken the leader out of him. He was pretty sure whoever was at the door was there because of Ronon.

One thing his blindness had done was create overprotective teammates, though, and while Rodney pulled him back down, Teyla strode quickly across the room, her footsteps echoing by him, and called out, "Who is there?"

"It's Gadmere. John, we must talk."

John frowned into the darkness. He'd talked to Gadmere only once since they'd been discharged, at the hospital when they had returned for their check-ups. The administrator had always been unfailingly polite, but also inflexible when it came to any mention of letting his team go. It wasn't so much what Gadmere had said, but how he'd said it, that had tipped John off to the fact that if they did try to escape, the ramifications would be serious. And now Ronon had been arrested, and Gadmere showed up on their doorstep.

"Come in!" he shouted, making a decision. His team might be trying to keep him from harm, but he was still in charge. Besides, it wasn't like they could actually deny anyone entrance, especially not the administrator. None of this belonged to them. As galling as it was, they literally owed their lives to these people.

"Are you going to let him in?" Rodney hissed in his ear. "He might be standing on the other side of that door with an entire regiment of…cops."

Ruefully, Sheppard leaned towards McKay and asked, "Do you think we've got a choice? Besides, I want to hear what he has to say, so be nice."

Teyla walked back across the room, and he knew she'd taken up a protective position next to him. "Be careful, John. If he finds out that Ronon was doing so under your orders, you, too, may be arrested."

He smiled tightly, because that was exactly what he was hoping, but if he admitted it to them, there'd be more trouble right now. John listened as Gadmere walked in. Rodney muttered that the administrator seemed to be alone, before adding under his breath that he probably had his goons outside waiting to pounce.

"McKay," John warned out the side of his mouth.

"I know you realize why I am here," Gadmere said. His voice was loud, and came at John from directly in front of him. "Your friend, Ronon, faces serious charges."

"I told him to do it," stated John calmly, knowing that Rodney and Teyla both wore matching faces wreathed with consternation at his casual statement. Ronon was his responsibility and if anyone was going to get into trouble, it'd be him. Sheppard was hoping he could get Gadmere to release Ronon, and take him in his place. If they could come up with a plan and later rescue him, great. If not, they could escape and John would manage at least knowing they'd gotten out of here. Hell, what'd he have ahead of him, anyway? His career was over. All the lies he could tell himself about being useful only went so far in his mind at night before the cold reality of day shredded them. Especially when he couldn't see the day.

"I know you did, John." Gadmere didn't even sound flustered. When he continued, he did sound disappointed, though. "I thought I explained there would be no returning to the surface." The man sounded pained over it, almost as if they'd betrayed him. "I thought you understood."

"And I thought you understood," John replied heatedly. "We aren't from Nokomis. This isn't our world and this wasn't our choice. If you'd just let us go -"

Gadmere's feet echoed in the room as he began to move away. "You know I couldn't do that, and now, you've placed me in a very untenable position."

John was surprised by what he heard. It almost sounded like…regret. Rodney suddenly shifted forward, and what he said pissed John off while touching him at the same time. "He's lying. I told Ronon to look."

"No, they are both lying. I told Ronon to look," Teyla interjected.

John was gonna kill both of them if they ever got out of this. He was trying to be logical and they were trying to be heroes. "Gadmere," he said stiltedly, "You know who is the leader of my team. It's my responsibility. They do what I say…" he trailed off, and his mouth twitched at the irony as he added, "most of the time."

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but your friend has already been sentenced." Gadmere said, his voice grave. "John, I told you that you must accept that you would be staying, but you didn't listen. It is an unfortunate thing that young Ronon shall pay the price for your lack of foresight."

"What price?" asked John tightly.

"We have only one price on Nokomis." John heard Gadmere move away, towards the door. "I'm truly sorry, but he'll be put to death two days from now."

John could hear the tension in Gadmere's voice, and fought against his own rising rage as the administrator spoke again.

"If it is any consolation, the death will be quick and painless."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** You guys asked why I hate it, and honestly, it's been a monster to write. When I started posting, I had the story complete. I had a working shell that needed some filling and fleshing and polishing. Then I got to the middle of the story and needed to do more, change things, add things, and it's become a lot more work than I'd anticipated. It's also very very difficult to write. Trying to portray the team dynamic in this kind of situation, telling the story from John's POV the entire way with his blindness is a constant challenge. Anyway, enough of my whining, because it is nearing the end. Lilas, I know, I added in an element that I didn't have before and it added an extra three chapters. Bad bad bad of me. (grin). Again, massive thanks to gaffer, Linzi, Shelly and Kylen!**  
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**Chapter Nine**

John leapt to his feet, ignoring the fact that he couldn't see, he just wanted to get his hands on Gadmere. Rodney and Teyla grabbed him on each side and forced him down.

"We would like to see him." She thrust a forceful hand on John's shoulder as he tried again to get to his feet. "To say our…goodbyes."

"Right, our goodbyes," agreed Rodney. "It's a funny thing on our world. Aside from the fact that we don't needlessly kill innocent -"

John forced his anger down and said, "What Rodney is trying to say, is that we want to see Ronon." Sheppard nudged his knee against Rodney's to stop McKay's mouth from making things worse. Ironically, John realized that strangling Gadmere probably wouldn't have gone over well, either. He didn't know what Teyla had in mind, but McKay had picked up on something because he'd chimed in with the same train of thought.

Sheppard didn't have the benefit of eye contact to convey anything, and he knew he needed to trust them. Obviously there was some plan brewing between them. Forcing down his confrontational urges, the ones still pleading with him to wrap his hands around Gadmere's throat, John grudgingly followed their lead. "You've got to let us do that much," he made his voice as strangled as possible, trying to convey grieving acceptance without going overboard. "He's our friend."

The relief in Gadmere was palpable when he thought the confrontation was over, and John couldn't help but wonder how naïve this administrator was. To think, they'd simply hand over their friend to these people so they could kill him. Clearly, the Nokomisians hadn't been around the universe much.

"It will be arranged -"

"Soon," interrupted John.

Gadmere hesitated. "Today, then," he acquiesced. "But first, there was another matter, Doctor Groton told me that you and Rodney must return for a check-up and new scans. I'll send a transport to take you there first, then the security detainment center."

The awkward silence grew, and Gadmere had no way of knowing the cause. John, and his team, however, were thinking about the coincidence, and wondering if the underground movement had anything to do with Ronon's arrest, while Gadmere probably thought it was just their unhappiness over the situation.

Gadmere walked the rest of the way to the door, and John listened as the crinkling of his uniform grew quieter as he left, but the administrator called a final warning before leaving for good. "I'm sorry about your friend, but please, let this be a lesson to the rest of you. You are here to stay, and that is final."

Once Gadmere had left, shutting the door behind him, John rounded on Rodney, "What the hell do you think you're doing, and you," he spun around to face the direction he'd last known Teyla to be in, thrusting a finger forward, "you know better - I could've convinced him to let me take Ronon's place." Despite his earlier thoughts of trusting his team, the anger over letting the opportunity to free Ronon and take his place boiled over. It shouldn't be Ronon sitting in a jail, sentenced to die, it should've been him. They were his responsibility, and he'd be damned if he was going to sit back and let anyone pay for his mistakes.

"Please, what's a six letter word for self-sacrifice?"

God damn stupid crossword puzzles, he thought even as he worked out the possibilities quickly in his head. Finding one that suited his purpose, John smiled painfully and replied, "Friend."

"Wrong," snapped Rodney. "Stupid. Very, very stupid. Well, the very is my own exaggeration."

"I disagree," Teyla spoke softly from his side. "It is admirable." Just when John was going to say that it was good to see someone got it, she added, "but misplaced, nonetheless."

"How is it misplaced?" he demanded of the air, because he was tired of turning back and forth, trying to face Teyla and McKay when he talked to them. "The person behind the bars will need to be rescued and it makes sense to put the least useful member in that position, leaving the able-bodied team members free to do the rescue. It was shifting resources, and damn it Rodney, you should've gotten that with your supposed genius brain." He left out the part where he'd accepted that if a rescue didn't work, it was a worthwhile trade of bodies, because being blind meant he would never be able to effectively fight against the Wraith again.

"Don't go insulting my intelligence just because you didn't get your way," Rodney huffed. "Between the three of us, we can come up with something."

"That's it." Astounded, Sheppard shook his head. "Your plan is that we can come up with a plan."

"A transport is arriving," Teyla announced. "We will go together."

John began to wonder when he'd lost control. One thing always led to another, and now Ronon's arrest suddenly precipitated a need for more scans with the doctor he knew was part of the movement. It wasn't coincidence, and maybe Teyla was right, that they should stick together. If anything happened at the hospital, at least they'd all know about it. "All right, but, no one does anything without my permission," he stressed. "Blind or not, I am the one in charge of this team," John reminded them with an edge of resolve in his words.

The trip to the hospital was done in silence. Between the knowledge that they knew they were probably under heavier surveillance, and couldn't count on it being just the underground members any longer, there was also the fact that each one of them was running through scenarios.

When they arrived, they were greeted by none other than Tamar. They'd sandwiched him in the transport again, and now Rodney slid out of the vehicle first, then helped John. While they waited for Teyla, McKay told him to sit in the wheelchair that Tamar had brought. Sheppard refused, because he could walk. He'd had enough coddling, and even though a part of him was tempted, because it was easier, the other part of him screamed out over his dead body. Teyla had joined them, and was standing behind, while Rodney flanked him. He started to step forward when Tamar said sharply that time was of essence and John's dragging behind wasn't going to help them take care of business. It was the business part that got through to him. Ronon. Swallowing his pride, he let Rodney help him into the chair, and tried not to look as disgruntled as he felt.

As he was pushed, he tried to keep track of what was going on. In the halls, he heard too many footsteps to distinguish how many people were around. All he could be sure of was that Rodney was on his right, and Teyla was on his left, with Tamar pushing the chair. The chair stopped, and John heard Tamar ask Teyla to get the door. With a blast of air, the chair began to move forward again. Once he was fully in the room, the sounds from the scanning machine overwhelmed and disoriented John. He fumbled a hand until he latched on to McKay's arm, and staring ahead, asked, "Tell me what's going on."

"Groton, Calicut and Tamar are talking in front of us, but I can't hear what they're saying. The machines are destroying my ear drums," Rodney replied, leaning down so John could hear him over the noise.

A few long moments passed before Groton spoke loudly, "I apologize, Colonel, but this is the only room in the hospital where we can speak freely. The imaging chamber disrupts listening devices."

John couldn't place the doctor's position because of the loud whirs and clicks that kept echoing around the room even as Groton talked, confusing his sense of perception. All he knew for certain was that the man was somewhere ahead of him. He leaned towards McKay, "Where is he?"

Rodney grabbed John's head, and with hands firmly on both sides, turned it a little to the right. "You could've just said where," John grumbled to McKay, but still wishing for the reassurance of touch so that he knew he hadn't been left. "Did you know about Ronon's arrest?" he asked Groton. "And Calicut, you must be the one running the show." He slid a hand back to where McKay's arm was, trying to be casual. The material was there, and he let his hand rest awkwardly on Rodney's forearm. There wasn't any way to be discreet about needing the focusing touch, and for now, he didn't care. If they could just turn down the damn machines -

A sudden touch on his knee made John visibly pull back, but he forced away the surprise. When Groton spoke, he listened closely. The man was so near, John could feel the doctor's breath on his face. "We have little time, so you must listen. When you visit Ronon, you'll be seated at a table. We've arranged for your weapons to be taped underneath. Take them, and take Gadmere and the security chief hostage. They'll insist on staying in the room while you visit. We know that Doctor McKay's remote is ready. We have the cutting tool and will meet you at the escape point. This must be done quickly, or we will fail, and all of us will be sentenced to death. They'll know you received help."

"How do I know you weren't behind Ronon's arrest?"

"You don't." Something was shoved into his hands, and despite himself, he twitched from the unexpected contact. His hands clenched around the object, and by touch he recognized the IDC device. "Trust is a two-way street," Groton whispered hurriedly. The air shifted, and John knew the man had pulled away. "Administrator, we were just finishing." The voice came from above him, loud and noticeably laced with false politeness. "Both men remain stable, though the blindness and weakness appears to be permanent."

John hadn't heard the administrator enter the room, and he couldn't vouch for Teyla being beside him, or where Tamar or Calicut were in the room. He was certain of one thing only, and that was that Rodney was next to him, because his free hand remained clenched on McKay's shirt and arm. Of course, because of Groton's statement, it was obvious that Gadmere had arrived.

"We want to see Ronon," John demanded. He kept his face forward.

"Certainly, this way," Gadmere spoke neutrally, and now John at least knew the administrator was behind him.

John went to rise from the chair, but Teyla pushed him down again. "Would you stop that," he hissed. "I'm blind, not crippled." He'd put up with it for the trip in to the scanning room, but there wasn't any reason to put up with it for the trip out to the transport. He hated the damn wheelchair.

"John, the IDC is in your lap," she whispered so close it tickled his face. "Hide it while Rodney pushes you to the transport."

Shit. He'd forgotten. No, that wasn't true, he hadn't forgotten, he was just so damn distracted by the constant barrage of noise from the machine. With hearing being his main source of information, he'd begun to rely on it heavily, and this room was the equivalent of being in a fun house with flashing lights hitting you from every angle. The chair spun around, and John surreptitiously palmed the IDC into his pocket. It hadn't taken but a second to do, but Teyla was right. If he'd stood from the chair when he'd meant to, Gadmere would've seen it. Assuming Gadmere had been watching him. That wasn't something he could tell, and he guessed it didn't matter anyway now.

When they arrived at the transport, John let Rodney guide him into a seat. This time he was squashed between the door and McKay, and staring at darkness while being this crowded was really pushing his limits. He had to keep focusing on the fact that no matter what he couldn't see, Teyla and McKay were with him, and if everything went according to plan, they'd soon be back on Atlantis.

When the vehicle stopped, John waited till the pressure against his body eased, signaling that McKay had slid out from the transport. He started to climb out when Teyla reached in to help him.

"Remember, John, do not do anything until we tell you," Teyla whispered as he stumbled to his feet.

Because he couldn't see, this was a place where he'd have to step back and let them take over. John trusted his team, but the sense of not having any control over what was about to happen was pretty hard to swallow. Not a position he was happy being in, but he nodded curtly, and keeping his voice low said, "Just make sure you do signal with something that I can catch." He had bad visions of Rodney using a completely screwed up hand signal that he couldn't see.

The first issue was to get him through the security check without the IDC being found. They hadn't had time to plan anything, but as they walked into the building McKay had muttered, "No one worries about blind people."

John tried to figure out what he'd meant, and as he was escorted into the building, the idea clicked. Teyla loudly announced their arrival at a security checkpoint, telling John to 'stay close and don't wander away'. He figured out that was his cue. John blustered forward, and inwardly prayed he wouldn't hit anything too hard. Of course, he did. The smack of a pole against his forehead sent him reeling back. Why did plans always have to hurt so much?

"John, we told you to wait for us!" scolded Rodney as he leaned over Sheppard, his voice shrill with nerves, which served their plan well. The acting was like a neon sign to Sheppard, but thankfully these people didn't know McKay as well as he did.

"Is he all right?" a security guard asked.

Rodney straightened, tugging John up with him. "Of course he isn't all right," Rodney snapped. "What kind of brain deficient person are you? He's blind, can't you see!" Rodney's hand smacked into John's chest. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be blind? He can't see poles, and people, and stupid security guards, and wouldn't you just like it if I brought a lawsuit down upon this entire security contingent, it'd be just what you deserve -"

"This way, please," another guard spoke up, an edge of desperation to have the scene over, and out of the lobby.

John purposefully rolled away from Rodney and staggered through the supposed security check. No one swept him for weapons, or other things, and thank God he avoided anymore poles. A few steps later, and McKay latched back on to his arm and guided him with a measure of safety. John was glad Rodney was there, because between the pole and the bloody nose, he was willing to concede life with a guide dog - or human - would be easier.

They were led through one long corridor before turning to the right and continuing to move down another. Finally, they stopped, and John was guided into a chair. Teyla whispered where she was and sat on his left while McKay sat on his right. Nervously, because if this was all an elaborate set-up, than this was the climax, John lifted his knees and felt the bulky P-90. The surge of relief was so strong he almost shook from it. Groton had been telling the truth, which meant they just had to successfully get Ronon and get out of here.

Teyla's fingers found his leg and pressed three on his knee. That meant there were three guards in the room. Rodney leaned against his shoulder and muttered that Ronon was being brought in.

John groaned pitifully, and let his head fall to the table. Quickly, he pulled the P-90 off and slid it across his knees to Teyla's lap.

"Is he okay?" John recognized the voice as the same guard that had bore the brunt of Rodney's wrath earlier.

"I'm fine," John said, trying to add the right amount of weakness into his tone. "Just a…headache," he explained, working on bringing his eyebrows together in what he hoped came across as the right level of wincing.

"Ronon," greeted Teyla. "It is nice to see you well." She tapped John's knee under the table again. Three times. Two times.

"I'm alive," the runner stated. "Though they tell me I won't be for long." The easy amusement said what Ronon thought of that.

She tapped one final time. It was the signal, and Rodney shoved him down. Knowing this was their thing, he ducked. The barrage of bullets kept him down. It didn't take long before it was over.

"Nobody move!" Teyla shouted. "Ronon!"

John heard her pull something from underneath the table, and guessed it was the runner's pistol. He started to stand, and was grabbed half-way up. For a second, he panicked, and pulled back to punch, when a startled, "It's me!" caused him to drop his fist.

"Rodney, I can't see. Don't just grab when we're in situations like this!" he grated.

"Oh, I'm sorry," McKay retorted. "It's not like we've ever been in a situation like this."

"Administrator, you will need to come with us," Teyla ordered, her voice firm. "And you, as well."

John guessed that would be the chief of security. He waited, nerves on edge, listening to the sounds of movements in the room. Just when he was about to ask someone what was going on, McKay was guiding him forward. He felt himself squeezed between Rodney and Ronon. "We'll be leaving now," Rodney warned. "If you try to follow, or stop us, these men die, and believe me," he chuckled a little hysterically, "You don't want to give big guy a reason here."

John could imagine the predatory smile that Ronon gifted them with.

They made it to the transport, and as they stuffed him in, it was uncomfortable finding that six in a transport was pushing it. The security chief threatened they'd all die unless they stopped this madness now.

"Madness?" John echoed. "You're the ones who are crazy. Capital punishment for everything you consider a crime."

Teyla was in the front of the transport, to the far right according to Ronon, and he was pretty sure she still had the gun trained on the two hostages. Gadmere was between him and Ronon, and even though he knew Ronon was in the back with him, John hated being stuck between the door of the transport and Gadmere. That left Rodney to drive this time. John leaned forward and added. "Believe me, you haven't seen mad yet. Rodney, the diversion?"

The remote had been built to resemble a watch, something McKay assured Sheppard that the Nokomisians did wear. He supposed telling time was more important in a world where the difference between day and night were negligible.

"Yes, yes, I'm only driving," McKay bitched. "One very big diversion on the way."

John listened as three soft beeps echoed in the transport, over the hum of the wheels on metal streets. Moments later, Gadmere shouted in alarm, wondering what was going on. One diversion delivered, then. "Your people will be kept a little busy now," smiled John.

"Busy is an understatement. They have less than five hours to restore power, or the air supply for the city is gone." McKay sounded almost insulted by the 'little'.

Five hours? John tried to hide his surprise. He'd never exactly asked for an explanation of what the diversion entailed, and he hadn't thought Rodney would do anything quite that drastic. "They can fix it, right?" he asked pointedly. The idea hadn't been to kill any innocents.

"Even an incompetent mouse could repair it," Rodney said, disgusted. "And anyway, if they don't, I left a recording to go off in four hours and thirty minutes explaining the procedure. It takes less than five minutes."

Now a whole new level of alarm raced through him, and Ronon beat him to the punch. "If it takes five minutes, we might not have time to get out of here."

"That's why I planted some…surprises," McKay explained confidently.

Gadmere jerked beside John. "If any of my people die -"

Ronon growled, "Shut up. You were going to execute me."

"You'll have to forgive him," said John, turning his head towards the administrator. "He gets grumpy when his life is threatened."

After that, Gadmere and the security chief both shut up. The city wasn't large, but it still took an hour to get to the edge. John had to trust the diversion was going to be enough to give them time to escape, and when they were out of here, he was going to remember to have Rodney explain some of the surprises. When the transport finally stopped, John breathed a sigh of relief; things were going according to plan. Even with the plan being hastily conceived and executed.

As the pressure on his side disappeared, he slid across the seat, getting his feet solidly on the ground and standing. John wondered what was going on, because instead of talking, or anyone moving to begin setting things in motion, all he heard was a shocked silence. Finally Gadmere stuttered, "Groton, what is this?"

When Gadmere's body reeled into Sheppard's, they fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. It's hard to brace yourself, or duck, when you can't see something coming. John swore, shoving the man off of him. He wasn't sure what had happened, but when Groton's voice came from above, he had a pretty good idea.

"We've wallowed in the darkness for our entire lives because of your paranoia, Gadmere." The administrator had rolled off John, but had stayed down and was close to Sheppard's side. Groton's anger was palpable as he continued, "No longer, Administrator. Today, we will see the sun again, and the trees. Today, we'll be free from this miserable replica of our world."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Thanks, so much, yes, I feel the love (and am thoroughly thankful). The good news (at least for me), is it's almost over, one or two more to go. So, thank you for hanging in with me. I thought it'd be a faster work than this but almost there. Kylen, I didn't plug you out of anything more than sheer admiration (but then again, you know that, cause I keep telling you that and I'll keep doing it forever...so there). I'm evil that way. Okay, one final note, the huge massive adoring thanks to my betas and hand holders; Kylen, shelly, gaffer and Linzi! I tweak and adjust and work on suggestions after they've sent edits back, so I'm completely to blame for any remaining mistakes and goofs.**  
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**Chapter Ten**

The administrator climbed off John, and blasted the doctor, "You're a fool, and what's worse, your actions may be the end of us all."

Ronon had been standing next to John when Groton had sent Gadmere to the ground taking Sheppard down with him, and he now pulled John to his feet. The tugging on his shoulder only made the soreness from all the previous yanks remind him just how much he was tired of being in the same position. "Ouch," he muttered, rubbing the tender spot.

"You'll live."

John had an idea that Ronon had smiled at him, but he couldn't prove it. Before he could tell the Satedan that he'd live, too, after all that extra therapy Beckett was going to pile on him, Ronon said, "The Doc here's getting close to -"

Before Ronon could finish his warning, John heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh, and knew that the doctor had given Gadmere another solid hit. Before he could tell Groton to knock it off, he was jerked, again on the same arm, by Ronon pulling him out of the way, and Gadmere went to the ground by his feet, having gotten up only moments before. Groton was right next to John, and he could hear the rapid angry breaths coming from the man. "If you had one ounce of leadership in your body, of kindness – of humanity, you would've done the right thing years ago. My father tried to convince you of the folly in isolation, but you wouldn't listen."

There were deep undercurrents, and Sheppard suddenly knew this was a lot more than just a dissident escaping a regime he disagreed with. The next words solidified his hunch. "Instead of listening, or even tabling it for discussion, you had my father murdered. Sentenced for treason, when all he did, was question your precious policy."

John stuck his hand out, stopping Groton from going any further towards Gadmere. "This isn't the time for revenge," he reminded the Nokomisian.

"Who said anything about revenge?" Groton asked acidly. "I want justice."

Groton surged forward, and John went forward with him, until Ronon got both of them pulled back, and god damn it, his arm was killing him.

"It's done, Groton," evenly, John pushed him harder away from Gadmere, and now that he had Ronon's bulk behind him, it worked. He'd never realized how big the doctor was because he'd never seen the man. "It's over."

He felt Groton relax under his hands, and take a step away. "It'll never be over," the doctor said, but his voice was deflated. "As long as he lives, it'll never be over. But I'll let him live, and he'll know that we did it. We got away from him, and he'll spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, in fear of what might be. He never believed it'd end any other way if we did go to the surface. Those fears will be his companion, his friend, his only lover, and those fears will eat at him and destroy what pitiful soul he has left."

When Groton finally walked away, footsteps fading to the left, John wasn't sure how Gadmere had reacted, but he'd imagine the administrator was feeling a little pale after that speech. The thing that struck John the most was that Groton was probably right. Gadmere was convinced that going to the surface, that anyone getting out, would bring the Wraith down upon them. And those final words from Groton had exposed a deep hatred that he'd never seen coming. Obviously. Things like that were in the eyes. In the face. You can't hear hate.

John shoved the morbid thoughts to the side. "Tie them up," he ordered, not forgetting the security chief. "Let's get this escape on the road. Assuming Rodney's surprises keep them busy, we're still running against a clock."

As Ronon pulled his hand off of him, and began to secure the hostages, both of whom protested vociferously, John forced himself to step towards Teyla. He wasn't exactly sure where she was because he'd lost some of his sense of direction in the earlier fall. "Teyla?" he called, taking a few tentative strides.

His arm was touched. "I'm here," she said.

He tried to focus on where her face would be. "How many refugees are we talking," he asked quietly. If there were too many, it could threaten their own escape.

"Fifty," she replied. "Maybe more, but not much."

That was more than he'd wanted, but less than he'd thought. There was a commotion to his right, and John turned, trying to figure out what the sounds were telling him.

"The security chief does not want to be restrained," explained Teyla.

John frowned towards the noise; so much for trying to figure it out on his own, he thought ruefully. "Ronon, take care of him," he grunted, knowing the last thing they needed was a hostage escaping and running off to tell what was happening.

The security chief's shouted protests ended with an abruptness that left John cold. "You didn't -" John asked, wondering just what Ronon had done to get the guy to shut up that fast.

"I knocked him out," Ronon said, amused, knowing full well what Sheppard had thought. "He'll be out for a while."

"The torch, where is the damn cutting torch!" shouted McKay. His voice was distant, and John realized that they must've been standing close to the street, while Rodney had ventured off to find the right location to begin cutting. Keeping a mental compass had been important, and in front was always north, which put Rodney to his west, and the street to his immediate east. Usually, left and right were enough, but out in the open he needed the references for the entire circumference of area around him.

"Here," Groton called. "Are you going to be able to use it?"

Groton's question was earnest, if a little skeptical, but even as the doctor finished talking, John's forehead raised. Sure enough, Rodney didn't let him down. "I shut down the air supply to your entire underground city," he snapped irritably, offended at the doubt. "I think I can handle a blowtorch."

Shaking his head, John guessed some things never changed. "He meant your hand, Rodney. Not your brain, though I'm beginning to wonder -"

"Oh," there was an embarrassed pause, and Sheppard could imagine the awkward expression on McKay's face. "I knew that."

Ronon sounded downright annoyed when he asked, "Yes or no, McKay?"

"Yes," Rodney retorted. "If I couldn't, do you think I'd be holding it?" John heard a soft puff from gas igniting. "People think I'd actually hold a potentially disfiguring tool if I didn't think I could manage using it. I've got the IQ of a genius, seriously. It's not like I go out of my way -"

The torch sounded like rushing wind through a small tunnel. "Get cutting, quit talking," John shouted. At the same time, he tugged at Teyla's sleeve. "Round up the refugees. When he gets that wall open, we've got to move." He didn't wait to hear what she said, he knew she'd do it. "Groton, what's on the other side of that panel?"

The doctor did something, John couldn't make out the sounds for sure, but it sounded like he'd unfolded paper. John waited, listening, for what the man had to say. Moments later, the distinctive sound of ruffling paper grew louder, and he knew Groton was coming towards him.

"I know you can't see this, Colonel, but your friend Teyla can." The noise stopped and Groton continued. "This airshaft is more than just an old ventilation route. It was one of the original access tunnels, and that is, in fact, a lift on the other side of that metal panel." There was renewed crinkling and John figured Groton was either folding it back up, or unfolding it more.

"How old are we talking?" asked John.

"It stopped being maintained when the renovations to seal us off from the surface began, over a hundred years ago."

John winced, because that was a long time for technology to sit. At least, technology that wasn't created by the Ancients. Still, he figured that if anyone could get it working, McKay could.

"Is that bad?" Ronon asked.

John tilted his head in the direction the runner's voice came from. He was still over where he'd sent the security chief into dreamland. Despite the chief being out for the count, and Gadmere restrained, Sheppard felt the nervous edge of disaster waiting to happen, and it was more than the fact that his blindness added to the anxiety. "Not good," he answered tightly.

"But Atlantis is much older, and the city runs smoothly," puzzled Teyla.

"Comparing the Ancients technology to the Nokomisians, is like comparing a chimpanzee using a stick for digging in trees and man flying in spaceships," cracked McKay.

There was a sudden yelp and John panicked a little. "McKay?"

"Fine!" Rodney answered quickly. "Just…dropped an edge. It's almost done."

As Rodney finished cutting the doorway, John could smell the super-heated metal as it gave way under the intense heat of the flame.

"Don't do this, John." Gadmere called. "Even if you make it into the shaft, it is perilous, and you might find yourself injured to the point of dying this time. Or even your friends."

"You were going to kill me for looking at files," Ronon stated. His words were straightforward but there was the underlying threat that promised Ronon hadn't forgotten.

Bottom line, though, the big guy had a point. "You remember what you told me?" John asked in Gadmere's direction.

The administrator had a level of apprehension when he replied, and John figured the man had a right to be worried. "Which time?"

Sheppard reached for Teyla's arm. McKay had to be about ready to go. "Pick one," he said, his voice harsh. "But to further clarify, it boiled down to 'you will never leave this city'."

Teyla took his arm, and they began walking towards the sound of whipping flames. He heard Ronon's footsteps drop in next to their own, and knew he was now flanked. Out the side of his mouth, he asked, "Where's Groton and the others?"

"In front of us, little to the left," whispered Ronon. He'd never heard Ronon whisper before, so it was a little comical when the runner did it. And also, oddly touching. Ronon was trying to keep things low key over John's blindness, and the runner knew he didn't want the others overhearing and having his weakness exposed to that degree.

"Thanks," he said, and raising his voice, called to Groton. "How many people can fit in this elevator?"

The dry laugh floated back to him. "Colonel, this was used to transport an entire population back and forth from the surface. We'll fit."

There was a satisfying thunk, and Rodney crowed, "Got it! One escape portal signed, sealed and delivered, thank you, so much. I wield a mean blow torch, if I do say so myself." Rodney paused before asking in their direction. "What was that, like ten minutes? Five? Seriously, that was faster than even I thought I could do."

"McKay," John said. "Just look for the elevator. We'll award you the medal of torching when we get out of here."

There was the sound of the flame snapping off, and then Rodney's voice sounded muffled. "I think – yes, it's here!" His voice grew clear and loud again in front of John. "Right where it should be." McKay clapped his hands. "Are we ready to go?"

Are we ready to go? John shook his head, mildly amused at the impact of the casual statement. Despite the uncertainty of what awaited when they got back to Atlantis, the prospect of leaving this dark world, and he wasn't talking about the lack of his sight, was…meaningful, a relief that was so physically strong he never could've put words to. This city had the feel of a dying cancer patient.

"Ronon, get the refugees through first, I'll follow with McKay," John ordered. He let Teyla walk him the remaining way till he felt the warmth from Rodney's body close to his side. "You, too, Teyla," he nodded forward, towards the hole…he hoped.

"We will get them loaded on the lift," she said in acknowledgement, and pulled her hand away.

Ahead, and muffled from the thick steel barrier between them, John heard Groton start directing his people where to go. Ronon and Teyla's voices joined in with the chorus of others. McKay's hand gripped his arm, "They're in. And now would be a really good time to leave."

John picked up on a thread of anxiety. "What is it?"

"Apparently the engineers of Nokomis have more competency than a mouse," he muttered. "So, again, this would be a good time to leave. Before Queen of Hearts over there is rescued, and tries to come after our heads."

"That wasn't even…what, two hours?"

"Thank you, Big Ben," Rodney snapped. "Now, duck and make yourself even skinnier so you don't burn yourself on the edges. This metal retains heat."

John was about to move forward, and duck, letting Rodney guide him, when Gadmere's words came up from behind, striking him in surprise.

"What can you do without your eyesight?"

Even though he knew the administrator was a paranoid, petty, and desperate man, the impact of the words cut. There was the wound of insecurity, and regardless of how many times he told himself he'd find a way, the naked fact of being blind kept it from healing. John knew that he could lie to himself in a hundred different ways, but in the end, the cold reality of darkness refused to be yielded.

He straightened, and turned around. Gadmere was back there, watching the worst thing the administrator could imagine happen in front of his eyes. His people were escaping and making for the surface. Sheppard knew the final cut against him was one man's last desperate grab for anything. But it gave him a new insight about the future that waited for him. "I can live," John replied. "Which is more than you're doing down here."

John didn't wait for Gadmere to reply. He turned, and fumbled for McKay's hand, feeling the warm palm wrap over his own, and let his head be pushed downward. He took the step forward, trying to keep his body as compact as possible. Despite his efforts, his shoulder brushed something hot, and he sucked in a quick breath, forcing himself to not jerk back, and make it worse. A few seconds more and he was through the hole.

"Sorry," Rodney rushed, fiddling with John's shoulder. "It's just a singe. Ronon, slide the slab back in place, but don't…damn it…" he snapped. "Yes…at a slight angle so it DOESN'T fall through. Brilliant." The impatient sigh made John grin.

He hadn't heard Ronon come back this way, but then again, the slab of metal was heavy enough that he was thankful for the runner's strength. There was a clang as Ronon adjusted it against the wall. "That good?" he asked, gruffly.

"Fine," Rodney replied. "Just…fine."

The air felt stale this far down, but at least there was air, which meant the topside probably wasn't sealed. John figured there was some kind of hatch mechanism that allowed the elevator to rise out of the ground. Considering that no one from Atlantis had arrived in the underground city, his guess was that it was well concealed and in decent condition, whatever it was.

McKay tugged on his arm, and John moved forward with him, only dragging a little behind. A few steps later and Rodney said, "Step up high."

John lifted his foot, stepped forward, and felt his right foot come down about half a foot higher than where his left was. Testing it, he found it solid, and pushed down with his right, hopping up and in to the lift.

There was a lot of murmuring from the refugees, and he could hear Groton and Calicutt specifically reassuring the others. John could imagine that the excitement of leaving the depressing city behind was becoming more than they could contain in quiet. But, they weren't out of Nokomis yet. "What does it look like?" he asked McKay. "Can you get it working? Or are we officially screwed?"

"We were screwed from the moment we set foot on this planet," groused Rodney, from behind him.

"McKay…"

"I'm looking!" he retorted testily. "I did just finish cutting through steel that is easily eight inches thick -"

John understood that what McKay wasn't saying was that the effort to use the torch had fatigued his already weak right side. But, they didn't have the luxury of waiting for Rodney to recover. "Rodney, the guys with guns are coming right now, to drag us back and make sure we never see the light of day, so if you can fix it, now would be a good time."

There'd been many times where his blindness had frustrated him, but now was right up there with one of the worst. Time was running out, and even in the back of his mind, John was registering a sound. He'd learned one thing was true, when deprived of one of your senses, the others compensated. His hearing had become his lifeline, the only thing he could depend upon to tell him what was going on around him. Now, he was the first to hear it. "They're coming," he shouted to be heard above the rising conversation in the lift.

"I'm working on it," Rodney replied quickly. "Let the smart man work in peace and he'll get a lot more done."

John opened his mouth to retort that he'd get all the peace he'd need if he didn't get the thing working, but John figured Rodney probably knew that. God, he felt so damn helpless. He could admit it to himself a hundred times, and it didn't help make the feeling go away. The sounds of wailing in the background grew, and let him know that time was running out. Was there some rule that police sirens had to be loud and obnoxious regardless of what planet you were on in the universe?

The floor jolting underneath his feet caused him to thrust his hands out for balance. Teyla was there, and steadied him. He knew it was her because of the familiar scent. "He got it working," he muttered towards her.

"It would seem so," she confirmed steadily. "We are moving up."

A cheer rose around him, and Sheppard mentally joined them. His heart was racing. This was it. They were on their way out, and all those nights he'd lain awake, dreading and wanting, were culminating now. He had equal parts fear and anticipation of what he couldn't help or prevent, and the worry that this old bucket of bolts would shudder apart before they reached the top.

The trip lasted an eternity. The elevator was big, and though he couldn't see how big, John could hear from the echoing of voices that it was large. So, Groton had gotten that right, also. There weren't bodies pressing against him, something for which he was very thankful for, but also the sounds of others were varied from close to distant.

As the lift ground upward towards the surface, it groaned and shook with protest. A few times John called "McKay!" certain it was shaking apart, but all he got back was "It's a hundred years old, what'd you expect" and then more grumbling as Rodney kept coaxing the controls. Maybe coaxing was sugarcoating it. There were a lot of protesting beeps from Rodney's direction.

When the upward movement jolted to a stop, John raised an eyebrow towards Rodney. "Does that mean we're there, or are we hanging in the shaft about to die?"

More muttering, a loud plaintive beep, and the wall he'd leaned against began to move. John yelped, jumped back, fell against Ronon and thought maybe leaning against unknown walls was a bad thing to do for future reference.

Rodney patted him on the shoulder, and said with deserved smugness, "That would be the door out."

"Good work," John said. "Now help me out of here before they trample us."

The noise from the people in the back had shifted to delighted exclamations and shouts of surprise. Though John couldn't see the sun streaming into the lift, he could imagine how excited he would be if he could. And these people had lived their entire life underground. No trees, no sun, only recycled air and dim twilight darkness.

Teyla stepped around him, her perfume smell trailing behind. Ronon followed her, his heavy footsteps even with only a small limp, probably so small that John was the only one that heard the difference in the runner's steps. McKay had his arm, and nudged him forward. There wasn't anything to step over, just one simple step and his feet were off the metal and onto spongy earth.

They'd made it. It wasn't a matter of when, or how, but they'd done it. He let Rodney guide him off to the side, so the others could make their way out. The sun was warm on his face, the air fresh, and he felt that alone could sustain him for a while.

"Colonel, you have our gratitude," Groton said.

John opened his eyes, and stared towards the voice. "It's a two-way street," he admitted. "What will you do now?" Though he didn't think Gadmere would come after them, Sheppard couldn't say for certain.

"I'm not sure." The reply, when it came, seemed lost in the mixture of wonderment at being free finally, and confusion over what to do now that the unattainable had been attained.

"We're going to a world where you'd be welcome," John offered. The alpha site was a temporary location, and then if Elizabeth approved, they could join the Athosians on the mainland. He had the IDC device, but they'd been gone for two months. The codes were changed and he'd prefer not to be splattered on the shield after finally escaping. They'd gate to the alpha site first, drop off the Nokomisians and then on to Atlantis. Fifty people weren't that much – "I don't suppose you want to try and offer others left below the chance to leave?"

Calicutt spoke from somewhere to Groton's left, "Going back would sign our death certificates. Unfortunately, there was no way of advertising. Taking on new members placed everyone at risk. We had to limit it to only those we could trust and their families."

Sheppard thought about all the people below that wouldn't get the chance to leave. They were prisoners, as much as they'd all been. And short of taking a large force down, there wouldn't be a way to give the others an opportunity. Even knowing how bad it was, the fact remained; the Atlantis expedition wasn't there for getting involved in other world's politics and causes.

"We'll take you up on your offer," Groton spoke up. "There's nothing left here, and if we stay, there's the chance that Gadmere will get a large number of security officers and come up to take care of the so-called risk he sees."

"The gate!" exclaimed Rodney, interrupting. He grabbed John, and spun him around thirty degrees. "I can't believe it." McKay's voice sounded like a kid opening up a present on Christmas that he'd never really thought he'd get. Surprised delight. "Something actually went right, for once."

Teyla's voice held wonder as she said, "The elevator delivered us right in front of the stargate."

Sheppard grinned. Sometimes things just worked out that way and damn if it wasn't about time.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** Thank you Kylen, gaffer, shelly and Linzi. My wonderful betas, friends and support, because honestly, without them, this fic might have died a painful death. (yes, the 'I hate this fic' mantra was going strong in this chapter – but it's almost finished, one more to go)

**Chapter Eleven**

"Rodney, dial the alpha gate. It's time to go home," Sheppard ordered, and he tried to ignore the sudden rise of doubts. As he let Teyla lead him towards the gate, there were strong emotions roiling through John's gut; relief, strong relief, but also fear and a whole lot of anxiety. What waited beyond wasn't exactly bound to be a walk in the park.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Elizabeth, and Carson, and all the others they'd missed – it was that he couldn't see. For two months, he'd been blind. Two months since he'd seen anyone's face, or a color other than black outlined in gray. Sometimes, he tried to picture their faces, and increasingly, the faces were blurring and becoming vague. He was losing the memory, and he was beginning to accept that he'd never see them again to renew it. And beyond that, what about their reactions when they realized that John was blind? He supposed, at the least, he'd be spared that.

The wormhole gushed out, and he was thankful for the sound to focus on. "Are we ready?" he asked.

Rodney was suddenly beside him. "I won't leave you," he said low. John felt his elbow taken by McKay's hand. "Carson can fix this."

"What if he can't?" John's voice strangled in his throat. Why did Rodney have to know what he was thinking?

"Then I still won't leave you. And we'll share a cabin back home on the Daedalus."

John snorted. "Over my dead body, you snore." After sharing a room for two months, he'd had enough snoring.

"I don't," Rodney replied, indignant. "Unlike some people."

"Please," John deadpanned. "You sound like a saw, and, you talk in your sleep."

"I don't," he denied again, but paused before asking uncertainly, "I talk in my sleep?"

John nodded sagely. "By the way, who's Sheila?"

"Sheila?" The feigned ignorance didn't fool anyone.

"Don't worry, you can tell me all about her if we do wind up on that flight home," John smirked. Setting the poking aside, he got what McKay meant, and he was touched. They weren't mushy types. Rodney's sarcasm protected him from the world, while John did the same with his laconic acceptance that lulled others into believing he didn't think about things too much.

"I will learn to wear these things called jeans," Teyla said from his other side. "And hear about Sheila, as well."

Sheppard tilted his head in her direction, confused. "What?" Was she trying to tell him what he thought she was trying to tell him?

"If you and Rodney must go to Earth, then I will, as well."

The edges of his lips curled because, yeah, she was saying what he thought she was saying. And it was saying a lot. Then Ronon's voice added, "I'm in. But I'm not wearing jeans."

Between imagining Ronon walking down Broadway, and Teyla leaving her people behind, John wasn't sure whether to laugh or shake his head. He was touched that his team had grown together like that, but he also knew it wasn't reality. They'd lived two months with only each other to rely on, and care for, but the galaxy waited through that wormhole. Teyla had her people to protect and consider, and Ronon had his revenge for the loss of his people. He and McKay would be the only ones returning to Earth if it came to it, yet it was amazing what those simple words meant to him. "What's a six letter word for appreciation?" he joked.

McKay snorted. "Child's play. Thanks. You should've used gratitude, more challenging." But the silence that followed– they got it. They all did. They weren't just a team anymore, they were a family. And families were willing to sacrifice for one another. He wasn't going to let them, but knowing they'd been willing was something he'd always have, whether his world stayed dark or not.

"Colonel?" called Groton. "The lift is descending. It's been recalled from below."

Sheppard knew that meant it was time to leave. No more putting it off. "Let's go," he ordered, and let Rodney pull him into the wormhole, and the future that waited.

OoO

When they got to the alpha site, John's team was greeted with a lot of laughter and shouts that quickly died down as John's blindness became apparent. He tried to blow it off, and joke that 'it was a small price to pay', but everyone knew it was a lie. It was a big price to pay.

The sergeant asked if John wanted to have Beckett come here, or if they wanted to gate straight away to Atlantis. It was a tempting offer – one he almost took the Sergeant up on, but in the end he'd settled for introducing Groton and Calicutt with a brief explanation of where they'd been.

The Nokomisians were still milling around the gate, when the sergeant dialed Atlantis, and sent through a message that some long lost friends were waiting to come through. John listened as Elizabeth's answer crackled over the radio, and he didn't imagine the hope in her voice as she said, "Send them home." Two months was a long time to be missing. John knew that even though they'd probably wanted to keep hope alive, it'd most likely dimmed as the days crawled into weeks, then months.

When he walked through on the other side, Rodney still clutching on to him, just feeling the air on his face, and hearing the sounds – the familiar smells…he felt such a rush. They were home. If he'd been able to see, he would've stared at the familiar sights. The gateroom, the stairs, command deck, and he would've drunk it all in like fine wine. There'd been days where none of them had believed they'd make it back. Dark days for everyone, and not just him.

Rodney's fingers tightened on his arm, and he knew people were arriving. He heard footsteps pounding down the stairs – most likely Elizabeth, and then from somewhere to his right, wheels and jogging feet coming towards them. Probably Carson and a medical team.

"John," Elizabeth's voice faltered from in front. "We thought we'd lost you all – what happened?"

He smiled briefly, but he couldn't track her, and the sounds – he was sure she was moving around, touching all four of them with her attention. "It's a long story."

"John?" This time it was a question, and he knew she'd picked up on his failure to follow.

"We suffered some -" he paused, the one to falter now. Injuries – it was too innocuous to describe what they'd been through. "It's a long story," he said instead of what he'd intended.

"Elizabeth -"

It was Carson, and in one word he conveyed his need – to get John's team to his infirmary, and assess the damage. John's blindness was blatant proof that they'd been through something, and after being underground for two months, they were probably all pale. Thin – not physically – emotionally. Not all damage was external, and John wasn't sure Beckett would be prepared to find it.

"Yes, of course," she said quickly. The reunion was awkward, and he regretted it. John should've had a team gate to the alpha site, but in his hurry to get it over with, he'd put them all on the spot.

"Doctor Weir, my people?" asked Teyla. McKay was still the only one holding on to him, but she was on his left – never far, and he could hear the tenseness.

"They're fine, Teyla. We will let them know you've returned. Halling was very worried – they all were," Elizabeth assured the Athosian.

Someone new reached for John's shoulder, and began to pull him forward and slightly to the right. It was funny how he'd learned to recognize the touch of his team, and that he knew right away it wasn't Ronon, McKay or Teyla.

"This way, Colonel Sheppard."

The brogue gave away the guiding hand as belonging to Beckett. There was a lump that suddenly grew up in John's throat. All those weeks of wanting to be back. To be in Carson's hands and find out if the damage was permanent – to be among friends whom he could trust to tell him the truth. The soft worry laced in their tones, the undercurrent of caring – "Thanks," he murmured, not trusting himself to say anything further.

When Carson tried to help him on to the gurney, he hesitated, and McKay was there. "He's blind, Carson, not lame, get your conditions straight."

"I know that, Rodney, I just thought it'd be -"

"Easier," finished John. "I know. But I can walk." He didn't mean to be difficult, or make Beckett feel awkward, but he'd done what he'd had to on Nokomis to make things easier. It was time to start facing the harder path.

"John…"

Elizabeth was trying to tell him that he should do as Beckett asked, but he needed to do this. "I'll be fine," John assured her. "Rodney?"

That's when McKay went to take his arm again, and the other apparent injury was noticed as Beckett stammered, "Rodney, your hand -"

Sheppard felt Rodney freeze, before quickly latching on to his arm. John leaned forward, towards Carson. "Not here, Doc." Too many eyes and ears, and McKay didn't need the entire city knowing about his condition right now.

There was a reluctant pause before Beckett agreed. Rodney's fingers squeezed imperceptibly and he whispered, "Nine letter word for thanks."

John smiled. "Gratitude. You always take the harder route."

"Nothing worth having is ever easy," rejoined McKay. "Cliché, but true."

At least some things never changed. He let Rodney set the pace to the infirmary. He matched strides and tried not to hesitate. It wasn't easy, but he got to the infirmary without flinching once.

Carson fussed over them, with as many exclamations as John could understand, as not. They related their injuries, taking turns, and everyone – even Teyla and Ronon – kept their explanations short and concise, and none of them elaborated.

As Beckett ordered tests, he grouched, "It's a miracle any of you are still alive." The CMO was tense, and frustrated, and Sheppard knew he felt guilty for not being there to help them. He continued and the tightness was in his words, "You'll all be staying the night, while we run a battery of exams to make sure injuries have healed properly."

Insert permanently, John figured. Carson had grown quiet when Rodney's shaking was discussed. And the quietness had lasted into John's blindness. Later, when they were resting on their beds – or were supposed to be, McKay had left his and gone to John's, and they were playing chess – Rodney moving the pieces around and being Sheppard's eyes when he needed it, Beckett interrupted them.

The infirmary was noisy, and John had given up on trying to track who was where, and he really didn't feel the need for it here. But he'd heard Carson's footsteps before the soft brogue asked to speak with him privately. Rodney had protested from his position at the end of Sheppard's bed, where he sat on the other side of the chessboard.

"You can stop your guard dog activity, Rodney, I will not bite him," Beckett said, amused by McKay's tenacious clinging to John.

Rodney retorted drolly, "Very funny." But his tone suggested he'd relaxed as John slid off the bed. He let Carson guide him away from his bed and into a chair a little ways away.

Knowing what this was about, he asked, "Can you fix it?" And he wasn't talking about only himself. As much as he wanted to know, he didn't. Because if Beckett said no…

There was a silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, until finally Carson sighed. "You don't give a man time to ease into things, do you, Colonel?" he chided. "But, as to your question, maybe."

John held his breath and repeated, "Maybe?"

"Aye, I don't want to get your hopes up, but there is one option for treatment."

"Surgery?" he questioned.

Another pause, and John felt tension clench his insides. Then Beckett clarified, "There are no surgical interventions to restore your sight, or fix Rodney's neurological damage."

Confusion drew his eyebrows together. "Then what? Ancients device you found? You said maybe -"

"Yes, I did," interrupted Beckett. "But you'll both have to return to Earth, and there's no guarantees."

Return to Earth. That was the source of hesitation on Beckett's part. Sending them back to Earth, and no guarantees, meant they might not get to ever come back. Once they were on the other side of the wormhole, they would be under the prerogative of the SGC. Elizabeth's purview didn't extend intergalactically. If their conditions didn't improve, there would be no coming back. No option of claiming asylum and staying on in an unofficial capacity. All the options he'd talked about with McKay would be out of their reach.

"Colonel -" Beckett started into the silence.

"That's asking a lot with no guarantees," Sheppard interrupted.

"It's the Tok'ra healing device," explained Carson. "It's healed a lot of things, but some of the more permanent injuries or even illnesses that are too far gone – it can't help. Maybe make things a little better, but not reverse. Brain tumors, extreme cases of radiation poisoning, it's not a miracle cure for everything, but it might work."

"And it might not," John added. But there were times where John could believe the risk was worth it, times like right now, when the frustration of everything he didn't know hit home. He knew that Carson was sitting across from him, but that's all he knew. He didn't know if Beckett was sitting in a chair, on a stool, on a bed – hell, he didn't even know for sure where he was in the infirmary.

He couldn't see who was around them, if the lights were turned up or down, and he hadn't asked what time it was. There were so many things you lost when you couldn't see. So many things you depend upon and never realize until they're gone.

"It's hope," Carson said. "I'm afraid it's all I have to give you both."

Sheppard nodded. "I'll tell McKay. We'll get back to you with what we decide."

There was more silence, and he wondered if Beckett had nodded in return, forgetting John couldn't see. Whether he did or not, Carson finally said, "I'll talk to Elizabeth. If you both agree, we'll send word on the next update to the SGC."

Before Beckett led him back, there was something else he needed to know. "Teyla and Ronon?"

John listened as Beckett shifted in his chair, it sounded like the doctor had crossed his legs. "They'll be okay, with therapy. Ronon's bone healed remarkably well, but there are pins that'll have to come out. Teyla's arm will need some physical therapy to regain full mobility."

So, some good news then. Good, bad, either way he'd got what he needed, and now John was ready to go back to his bed. He'd been prepared to hear the condition was irreversible. He'd been prepared to here there was a possible solution with surgery. There'd been a lot of things he'd been prepared for, but the one thing he hadn't been prepared for, was the one hope Beckett offered. And the hope was a two-edged sword. He felt emotionally wrung out – the tension of waiting, the unexpected promise of hope – the possibility of failure and being stuck on Earth with no way to return to Atlantis. Being back here was just as trying as he'd thought it'd be and maybe a little worse. But John also knew it was worth it. His life wasn't the only one on the line back in Nokomis.

He stood to return to his bed and Carson quickly latched a guiding hand on his arm and helped him over. When John was settled, Beckett's hand lingered an extra moment. "Colonel…John," he said gently. "We'll do everything we can, I promise."

"Thanks, Doc," he forced out. As Carson withdrew his hand, John had a spike of guilty relief when he heard the sounds of Beckett's feet fade. It was hard maintaining a façade around everyone else. He waited for McKay to talk, but all he heard was more silence. Frowning, he reached forward –

"You're back," Rodney said. But McKay wasn't in front of him anymore, sitting at the end of his bed where John had left him. He was somewhere to John's left.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, aborting his forward movement, and trying to act like he hadn't been physically searching the air for Rodney.

"The bathroom, I can give you a blow by blow account if you -"

"Shut up."

McKay climbed back onto the end of John's bed, trying not to upset the chess pieces, but the few clunks he heard told Sheppard he hadn't been successful. There were some mild jolts of the bed and then he heard Rodney putting the pieces back where they belonged. "Testy, aren't we? So, what'd he have to say?"

Rodney had tried to make himself sound casual, but John wasn't fooled. "We've got a choice. Back to Earth, and hope this healing device will work, or -"

"The Tok'ra healing device," breathed McKay. There was a sound of a hand slapping against skin. "How could I be so stupid!" Rodney exclaimed. "It's perfect. It'll work. And even better, I might get to see Sam – and get sympathy points."

Sheppard needed to know just how much faith McKay had that it would work. "You sure? Because if it doesn't – this becomes a one-way ticket."

How ironic. They'd left Earth prepared for the same possibility; that coming here to Atlantis was most likely a one-way trip. Now he viewed the familiar concept, this time in reverse, with almost the same level of apprehension.

"I have utmost confidence," Rodney claimed, then added "and if not, we'll get a bachelor pad and become slobs."

"I've seen your room," John said.

"Your point?"

John shrugged. "Just saying."

"Just say your next move," Rodney suggested like he knew very well what Sheppard's point was. The rest of the game occupied their time until Carson came and chased McKay back to his own bed, telling them they were keeping up the other patients. He hadn't even known there was anyone else other than his team in the infirmary.

Sleep was not easy in the coming that night, and John slept badly. Every time he woke up, the darkness reminded him of what waited. They'd told Carson they wanted to go back to Earth, and give the Tok'ra device a shot. John wasn't sure he would've agreed if it hadn't been for the fact that McKay needed it, as well. Rodney stood a better shot of being healed, his injuries were less severe. John knew his own odds were a lot longer, and he also knew there was a possibility that Rodney would be healed, and he wouldn't. Then he'd have to force McKay to go back on the Daedalus, and leave him behind. He also knew Rodney hadn't thought about that.

At some point in the early morning hours, John gave up on sleeping altogether. He knew he was the only one awake, aside from the few staff on the night shift. He kept his eyes shut and they left him alone. When he heard footsteps approaching, he thought it was a nurse coming again to do something inane like check his temperature. He'd already encountered it earlier. When she'd stuck the probe in his ear, John had pulled his head back and with a surly attitude, pointed out that he was blind, not sick. She'd taken it anyway.

"John?"

He opened his eyes and stared at the darkness. "Elizabeth."

There were sounds of a chair being pulled up, and he heard her settle in. "I thought you might be up all ready."

He offered the best smile he could, considering the circumstances, but it was probably not a great effort. His brain was running in overdrive, with all the worst-case scenarios. At least he wouldn't have to worry about money. He'd had his paychecks sent into investment accounts. Amazing what a year and a half of salary without any financial drain, plus hazardous duty pay, could do to your IRA.

She continued when he didn't respond. "We've contacted the SGC -"

"This early?" he interrupted. The scheduled check-in hadn't been until this afternoon.

"Yes," she replied, her voice warm. "I think for my chief military officer I could use my judgment on moving up the check-in time."

"You didn't have to," he protested. John was touched, but also…bothered. He knew that he and McKay, him more, were objects of water-cooler discussions and stares of pity – one reason he hadn't pushed to return to his quarters – but, having things changed because of his condition, even something so small as upping the time for calling the SGC, just…pushed a button in him, and left him feeling disgruntled. Plus, it meant she knew the SGC's reply already, and he hadn't been prepared to hear it so soon.

"You're nervous," she soothed. "I understand, but the request has been approved. As soon as you and Rodney are ready, you're free to leave."

"I'm pretty sure you can't understand," he replied dryly.

An awkward silence before she rushed into saying, "No, you're right. I can't. But I can imagine."

He almost said it wasn't good enough, but managed to rein himself back. He'd woken up grouchy, and angry at the world, because he was being forced into a decision that could end in the worst possible outcome he'd imagined all those long days before. He didn't want to live out the remainder of his life isolated on Earth. After all he'd seen and experienced, reduced to living a half-life from the life he'd had out here, it just wasn't good enough, no matter what he told himself.

But that was exactly what might happen. John kept thinking he'd have to find something new to focus on, to give him something to live for, but every time he tried to seriously consider what, he kept falling back to what he couldn't do. The one thing he'd spent his life hoping for, dreaming of, and finally getting. He was a pilot, and blind pilots didn't exist.

"I'm sorry, John. Sorry that this happened to you, and that the only hope we have to offer is just a possibility. I wanted you to know how much you meant to all of us before -"

"Before I leave and never come back," he finished bitterly.

She sighed, and he heard her stand up. "This isn't coming out right, is it?"

He jerked his head. "Your beside manner is still lousy." And damn it, it wasn't her fault, it was his. He drew a breath. "I'm sorry – it's just…when we were there, and working towards the goal of getting back home, it was something I didn't have to face like I do now. And I might walk through that gate, and never come back, and it pisses me off. I want to come back."

"I'm not going to let them keep you away," she said. "Is that what this is about? You think you won't be able to return if it doesn't work?"

He peered upward in the direction of her voice. Habit. Not that it made a difference, but it was habit, and a hard one to break, even when you can't see. "You can't control what they do on the other side of that wormhole."

"No, I can't," she admitted. "But I can control what happens on this side. I need your gene, John. We need that gene, that natural ability. It's why you came with us in the first place, and I won't let them forget that."

He wondered what she was getting at – did she have some ability to influence the decisions on the other side? He suspected that she'd had a hand in his promotion, and even his retention as the commander of the military contingent on Atlantis; but he also knew, she'd been there, on Earth, at the time both decisions had been made. They'd both been there, and he hadn't been blind back then, either. John didn't know what to say, and he'd clearly gone down a defeatist road this morning, so maybe it was best if he just said nothing at all. Whether she got that, or not, she left, and he tried to make some sense of the conflicting emotions running through his mind.

Slowly, the rest of the infirmary woke, and there was a daily routine of checking on patients, shift change, and cleaning. Carson released all four of them, and after John was dressed, he waited on his bed for McKay or someone from his team to come and get him. It wasn't arranged, just accepted. Still, they seemed to be taking their time, and by the time someone did arrive, John had to admit to a little bit of nervousness that they'd forgotten him.

It was Ronon that eventually came for him, and he helped John to his room to pack. Rodney was running some things by Zelenka that he'd wanted to make sure got done, and was going to meet them in the gateroom. Teyla was off doing something, according to Ronon. When John asked what that something was, Ronon grunted that he wasn't Teyla's keeper. He decided to let it drop. They all needed some space after spending two months together.

Ronon helped John pack up his things, and when John went to put some of the more important items in his bag, Ronon's firm grip stopped him. "You won't need that," the runner said, taking away his skate board.

"I like my skate board."

John heard the thunk as Ronon set it back down where it'd been on the floor. "It'll be waiting for you."

Fuck. Elizabeth must've gotten a hold of Ronon. He debated arguing it, but then figured what the hell. He'd spent the last two months trusting his team, and now maybe it was time to trust in Elizabeth, also. John asked Ronon to help identify the shirts and pants, and socks, and drew the line at underwear. When he was all packed, he let Ronon take his arm, but insisted on carrying his own bag. John would've paused to survey his room a final time before leaving, but he couldn't see. There were times when the blindness sucked more than others.

John couldn't help feeling like one of those men walking the line down to the electric chair. He could feel the heaviness around him, knew that the people they were passing in the hall were staring at him like that, with pity in their eyes and goodbyes in their faces. He was glad he couldn't see it.

"Colonel," greeted Elizabeth.

At the gate already. "Guess this is it," he said. "Rodney here?"

"Right behind you," McKay piped.

He didn't look, just nodded. "Let's get this show on the road," he said. On the other side of that gate waited a potential cure, or the realization that he was blind forever. He had to believe that Elizabeth would get him back to Atlantis, whichever way the chips fell.

The gate began dialing and John figured Elizabeth had nodded to the tech. The only thing that kept him from flinching when it kawhooshed out, was the fact that Ronon had a hand on his arm, and McKay was right behind. Still, it was unsettling knowing the wormhole initialized and if he'd been in the way of that first deadly wave outwards, he wouldn't have known.

"You have a go," she said. "I'll see you soon, and both of you, good luck."

John went to disengage from Ronon, but he started moving forward. "What are you doing?"

"Colonel, we all feel the need to be helped by this…healing device."

"Teyla?"

Elizabeth asked with feigned innocence, "Did I forget to tell you? Your entire team is going to undergo the healing device, and return on the Daedalus. Ronon will make sure no one misses the flight back, won't you, Ronon?" Her voice was deceptively mild, but it made John smile and shake his head. She was damn devious, when she wanted to be.

"I don't think you forgot," John replied. "But, thanks." She was sending a bodyguard to make sure Sheppard wasn't kept from the return flight.

"All this sappy sentimentalism is wonderful, and touching, and we could all sing Kumbaya, but they're waiting on the other end, and I'd hate to see them raise the iris before we finish our trip through." McKay stepped forward, and took John's other arm.

"I don't think they'd do that, Rodney." Beckett had arrived to see them off as well, apparently. "Good luck, and Colonel, whatever happens, we will see you soon."

"Thanks Doc, Elizabeth," he tugged his hand free from Rodney, and waved behind. Then turned forward again. "We ready?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Guess so – as long as the food's good."

"Yes, yes, let's just go, Carter awaits my genius."

John shook his head ruefully. The SGC had absolutely no idea what was descending upon them.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** Thank you gaffer, Kylen, Linzi and Shelly, for beta, handholding and shoulder to whine upon. I've got to warn you here (and aren't those of you who skip AN's going to be pissed) this isn't the final chapter. I truly thought I'd be able to wrap it up, but it didn't work out that way. I'd love to say thirteen will be it, but I'm feeling a little jinxed on my estimating abilities, so, let's just settle for the end is almost here. Lilas – I'm just waiting for your shouts to hit. And you thought I was evil when I miscounted the FIRST time!

**Chapter Twelve**

They walked through the wormhole, and immediately John felt the metal ramp under his feet. The SGC. He still had a hold of Rodney's arm and let McKay lead the way down. It was the same ramp his feet had walked up almost two years ago on a one-way trip to a life he couldn't have begun to imagine. He'd been naïve about a lot of things back then, despite the hardships he'd endured prior to embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. So many others had also walked up that ramp, and they wouldn't ever be coming back. The hard reality of it put his blindness into some small amount of perspective.

"The General's down here," Rodney hissed under his breath, giving John a quick warning.

"Welcome home, Colonel Sheppard – Doctor McKay," greeted General Landry moments after McKay had prepared him. "And welcome to Earth, Teyla - Ronon."

Being around Generals made him nervous. Hell, being around any superior officer made him nervous; fall-out from the black mark on his record, and the actions leading to it. John knew his reputation followed him, and he straightened, pulling his arms free, needing to keep with protocol. "General," he said uncomfortably. Sheppard might be blind, and he might feel like he had a permanent mark against him, but he was still an officer in the United States Air Force.

"At ease, Colonel," Landry drawled. "I'm not going to hold to formality with a man facing what you are."

Stiffly, John replied, "I'd rather you did, Sir. I don't intend to stay this way." Having his condition brought out right from the beginning didn't exactly make his day. Especially standing in a gateroom where he was pretty sure there were security officers standing by, and other people. That, and the pity factor. He didn't even know Landry. It made him feel even more uncomfortable. John wasn't used to anything more than disdain from superiors like this General, and being treated with kindness threw him off-kilter.

"Son, I'm a General, I get to do what I want, now – Doctor Lam has beds prepared for you and Doctor McKay," he trailed off, and what he was doing, Sheppard couldn't tell but he started again, "I assume you'll want to get the ball rolling as soon as possible? SG-1 will help you and your team get settled. I don't believe you've met Colonel Carter or Colonel Mitchell." The man was firing out information so fast John struggled to keep up. "Carter will be using the Tok'ra device on you and Doctor McKay. Mitchell will be – what will you be doing, Mitchell?"

The amusement in the General's voice made John think of Weir, and his own team. The SGC still had their battles here in the Milky Way. John figured you didn't have that kind of life without forming relationships and learning to care about each other. He didn't know a lot about SG-1, but he knew that Rodney had a thing for one Colonel Sam Carter.

"I'm moral support, Sir," Mitchell answered casually.

Until Mitchell had chimed in, John hadn't any idea that the Colonel was there. It was killing him, not knowing who else was in the gateroom; not knowing where anyone was except his team. His memories of the room itself had faded a long time ago. The brief time he'd spent waiting to gate to Atlantis hadn't been enough to remember anything specific except the general things, like knowing the observation window was overhead and in front of his current position. Not only did John want to 'get the ball rolling', he desperately wanted to get out of the gateroom.

"Yes, you understand right," McKay spoke up from John's side. "Even as we talk, my headache is pounding my brain against the inside of my skull in tune to a bad drummer's quartet. So, if the pleasantries are done?"

There was a sharp laugh, quick and humorless, before a woman accused, "Still the same polite Rodney McKay that we all love to hate."

"Still the same dumb blonde, making irrelevant observations," Rodney retorted lazily.

John elbowed him, "Rodney, play nice." That had to be Carter, then. Only one other person made Rodney that irritable, and that would be him.

Mitchell said, with a hard edge that was there for everyone to pick up on, "Doctor McKay, it's not smart to insult the person that holds the ability to heal your injuries -" it was tight and restrained "- is it?"

"Mitchell, enough," barked Landry. "This isn't a bar room brawl, clear?"

"Yes, Sir," answered Mitchell smartly.

"It's okay," Sam assured the room- John wasn't sure who she was addressing specifically. "Oddly enough, Rodney and I have made a weird peace, of sorts." The explanation sounded rushed, and John had to wonder what had happened that he couldn't see. He had images of Ronon and Mitchell toeing off against one another over Sam and Rodney's collective honor. "I'd be worried if he hadn't said it. Isn't that right, McKay – it's fine. In fact, why don't we all get a drink? Some lemonade, Rodney?"

Now it was Sheppard's turn to splutter, which he quickly turned into a cough. Just when he'd thought Carter was trying to defuse the situation. Teyla was the one to chime in now, and there was no denying the veiled threat. "Doctor McKay is allergic to citrus. I prefer you offer him coffee."

He groaned. This was going just about as spectacularly bad as he'd imagined. "General, those beds you offered? Maybe we should go – before you have extra bodies to fill more."

"I can fill more beds," added Ronon with that steady calm he always seemed to employ, unless he was a step away from shooting you, in which case, he usually ratcheted it up from steady to pissed. Ronon didn't have in betweens.

"No," John said sharply. "No beds. Or – no more beds." Damn it. "Can we just go?" he asked the air. The situation was degenerating, and his own case of nerves over the possibility of getting his sight back – and then again, the possibility of not getting his sight back – had John a step away from swinging his own punch, and he'd be happy with whomever he connected with, whether it was his team or not. And seeing how there was a general somewhere in front of him, probably in swinging range, John figured it was time to get out of there.

"I think that would be a good idea," agreed Landry. "Colonel Mitchell and Colonel Carter will escort you and your team to the infirmary, where Doctor Lam is waiting. And everyone will get along, is that clear?"

The steel was unmistakable and John nodded. Loudly, for his team's benefit, he agreed. "Yes, Sir, everyone will get along." He was pretty sure his team knew he meant them.

John listened as he heard Landry spin on his heels, and – not storm – but leave the room with alacrity. He almost thought he'd heard the General mutter something about if they didn't, they'd all have beds with restraints, courtesy of him, but since no one said anything back, Sheppard figured this was probably a better use of 'don't ask, don't tell'.

John nudged McKay, "Let's go before anything else happens."

He felt Rodney's arm jerk, and guessed McKay had shrugged. "I didn't start it," he muttered.

"Yes, you did," retorted Sheppard. "What are we waiting on?"

"Sorry," Mitchell cleared his throat. "This way."

The layout of the SGC was uncertain ground to John, and he held on to Rodney with his left hand curled around McKay's right arm. He stayed a step behind, and hoped there weren't hallways full of people staring at them as they headed to the infirmary.

As opposed to their arrival, the trip to the infirmary was subdued. The silence gnawed at John's nerves. "Where's Daniel Jackson?" he asked, hoping to break the ice that had formed over the surface.

"Probably somewhere with his nose in a book," cracked Rodney.

John stepped forward with his left foot slightly more to the side, and was rewarded by a surprised break in Rodney's stride as John's toe caught McKay's heel. He smiled stiltedly when Rodney stopped for a pause. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," he retorted.

Carter cleared her throat, drawing their attention. "We're at the elevator," she announced. "If you'd like, Colonel Mitchell can escort Teyla and Ronon to their quarters while we continue to the infirmary."

Mitchell intoned, "Right. I can do that." There was another pause where John wondered what was passing between the members of his team, Carter and Mitchell. "Just – no hitting the nice Air Force Colonel that didn't even think of touching your weapon. Okay, big guy? And hey, I know just the person you need to meet."

Sheppard liked Mitchell. "Go ahead," he said to Ronon and Teyla. At least he was pretty sure he said it to them and not the wall. "No reason for you guys to tag along. Go, get comfortable, see the base, do the tourist thing."

There was hesitation in Teyla's voice when she spoke. "Colonel, I would prefer we stay together -"

"Teyla, they're not going to abduct us," Rodney interjected. "You're not, are you?" he said uncertainly. "Because we've got lots of information on Atlantis, and it would really suck if you'd slid to the dark side and -"

"Rodney," ground out John. "They're not going to kidnap us. Teyla, I'd prefer you go. One mother hen is all I'll need." If they'd been alone, he would've told her that as much as he understood, he didn't want the added expectation of staring eyes when the healing device was used. If it failed –

"If you need us," rumbled Ronon. John could almost picture the runner fondling his gun.

"Thanks," he nodded. "I know."

"Sam," said Mitchell, and John knew something had passed between the two that he couldn't see, and then he listened as the three of them walked away.

"That, uh, Ronon – he wouldn't really -"

"Yes, he would," McKay answered Carter succinctly. "But only if he's given a reason or you're a Wraith – and seeing how there aren't any Wraith here, thank God for that, by the way, I'd say as long as your people can control their base impulses, he won't break anyone's bones."

"Right," Carter replied uncertainly. John got the distinct feeling that Carter believed she'd just sent her little Red Riding Hood off with the big bad wolf.

A ding signaled the arrival of the elevator, and John let Rodney lead him in. "Colonel Carter, from what I hear, you're the SGC's version of our Rodney McKay." John groaned as soon as he finished. That just came out entirely wrong. "I mean, you two have the same jobs, but in different galaxies," he tried to explain again.

The elevator lurched upwards, taking John's stomach with it.

"Not exactly like him," she replied. "I'm smarter."

"Are we really going to get into that again, because, really, I'll just make you look bad."

John cleared his throat. "Blind here," he reminded them irritably. It seemed every time he tried to start a conversation, it was getting hijacked by the seeing people around him, and there was a lot he was missing out on. He was definitely growing annoyed.

"Sorry." Disgruntled, McKay didn't really sound it. He sounded rather pleased he got the last insult in.

When the elevator stopped, John felt the cool air from the corridor blow over his face, and tightened his hold again on Rodney, following slightly behind as they moved into the hall.

"It's down this way," Carter explained.

From the location of her voice, John knew she was ahead of Rodney. Using the time left, John had to ask, "As thankful as I am for the potential cure, how did you become able to use this – Tok'ra – device?" The word was unfamiliar to him, so he hoped he pronounced it at least half-way correct.

He heard Carter draw in a sheepish breath before explaining. "Not long after we began traveling to other worlds I was made an unwilling host to a Tok'ra. Her name was Jolinar. When she died, she left behind memories that allow me to use certain Goa'uld technologies, one of which is the healing device."

"Unwilling?" Sheppard's SGC history wasn't as strong as it probably should be, but what little he did know, was that the Tok'ra had been their allies. Touchy at times, but supposedly one of the good guys out in the galaxy.

"Long story," she said, and there was something - a haunted edge that made John nod knowingly.

"Seems the Tok'ra only applied their vaunted upstanding morals to the situations that suited," bitched Rodney.

Sheppard was surprised by the bitterness coming from McKay. But then again, Rodney had been working in the Stargate program for a while before Atlantis, and he supposed there was bound to be history that he didn't know. It just…startled him.

Letting the Tok'ra back story drop, John asked, "And this device, it can make me see again? And cure the neurological damage to McKay?"

"That's the general idea," said Rodney, answering for Carter. They stopped, and Sheppard figured they were at the infirmary. He heard the sound of doors opening and Carter said, "This way," that confirmed his suspicions.

She escorted them to somewhere deep in the room, and McKay guided John's hands to the gurney, so that he could hop up. "Where'd she go?" he whispered the question to Rodney, when he heard her footsteps retreating.

"To get this Lam person…"

"That would be Doctor Lam." The voice was strong and came from behind John, making him jump noticeably.

He could almost hear the wince in her voice as she apologized, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"I didn't mean anything by that," stammered McKay. "I was just – oh, God."

Sheppard guessed Lam was sufficiently attractive to induce that level of babbling in Rodney. He was debating whether to turn to face her, when he heard her steps as she walked around and solved his dilemma.

"Colonel Sheppard, before Sam attempts to use the healing device on either you or Doctor McKay, I want to run some baseline exams in order to compare the before and after results."

John felt a spike of dismay. More waiting – so close, and now they wanted to run more tests. He fought to keep his face neutral but Rodney's words illuminated his lack of poker-face. "Carson ran all the tests you could think of, and probably more with his Ancient medical toys – why didn't you request the results when we came through earlier?"

"I did," Lam replied easily. "But that was then, and this is now, and you two have traveled through a wormhole and it's my job to be thorough."

"We get that." Sheppard wasn't sure where Rodney was standing, but he knew it was nearby. All things considered, McKay was probably feeling just as much disappointment as he was feeling. The added kicker was the sarcastic admission of pain that Rodney had slipped in earlier. John knew that McKay still suffered from intense headaches, and as much as he would complain prolifically about other ailments, this was one area he tended to clam up about. Because it was a blatant reminder of his condition. "If this is going to be a while, Rodney's got a headache. Maybe you can give him something for the pain while we wait?"

John could practically hear the mental doctor gears spin up. He heard Lam's clothing rustle. Then McKay backed into Sheppard's gurney. "No, really – it's fine. Just, you know, straining to see through my good eye gives me headaches. It's a manly headache, nothing that needs anything sharp."

"This isn't for you, but I'll get you something soon," Lam's voice was amused. "It's for Colonel Sheppard -"

"What?" John spluttered. He couldn't see, but he'd heard McKay say 'sharp', and anything that a doctor had that could be described as sharp, he didn't want. Especially since he didn't have a headache, and he couldn't think of any good reason for her to be poking him anywhere.

"Colonel, under the best of circumstances, an MRI of the brain is uncomfortable. This will be detailed, and we have to use contrast dye. Considering your condition, I've decided that sedation is the proper method -"

Lam's voice had clearly tried to do soothing, but all John could process was being sedated. "I don't want to be knocked out," he protested. Suddenly, a mere injection of pain killer held a lot more appeal.

"Pardon me for being blunt," she said in a voice that didn't sound apologetic at all, just very certain. "You're blind, Colonel. If you haven't had an MRI before, they are incredibly loud. Individuals with all their senses can react poorly under the scans. You'll need to be perfectly still, and I would imagine you won't enjoy being awake."

McKay leaned close to John, and muttered, "She's trying to say you'll be a nine letter word for scared."

He might not be able to see, but John knew Rodney was close. He glared in McKay's direction.

"Colonel, believe me when I say this is for your benefit."

Knowing his knuckles were probably whitening from the grip he had on the edge of the gurney, John closed his eyes, fighting down the panic. The few times he'd been sedated recently had been bad, and definitely hadn't been willingly. When they'd first been captured by the Nokomisians – and then after, in the hospital, and the last time by the rebels, twice.

McKay must've finally connected the dots, because when he talked, there was no derisive humor left – or, maybe not so much. "Colonel Sheppard's been sedated more than once by the 'not so nice' people that kept us captive after we," John heard a strangled chuckle from Rodney before he continued, "literally dropped in on them and their pathetic city. His petrified state aside, if I stay with him -"

"He's still here," John reminded them sardonically. This was stupid. He knew it was. But it didn't make the crawling fear quiet. Swallowing his pride, John offered, "Okay, I'll do it. But, McKay stays in the room." Rodney had offered and he wasn't feeling up to false bravado just now. "Or one of the others from my team." God, he hated to admit it. Yet, he did. "I don't want to be alone when I'm out."

Lam touched his arm, and he was surprised by the gentleness. "I do understand. We'll get your test done first, and after it's finished, we can run Doctor McKay's. That way, he'll be with you in the scanning room. I'll keep the sedation light. You may be aware, or you may sleep, depending on how tired your body is."

"I won't be exposed to anything dangerous, right?" McKay asked, nervous. "I was hoping some day to pass on my superior genes to a handful of mini-me's."

"Your reproductive capabilities will remain the same as they were before," Lam replied dryly. She moved her hand down to Sheppard's legs, and prompted him to lift them up to the bed, guiding his upper body down with her other hand.

John let her steer his body into position, feeling oddly vulnerable when he was on his back. "Mini-Rodney, now that's scary," he joked, trying to relieve some of his tension.

"Don't worry," complained McKay. "I'm sure any hopes of reproduction will be erased by the time we're finished in the Pegasus galaxy – and by finished, I don't mean dead, hopefully."

John nodded, closing his eyes, as he allowed the SGC doctor to position his right hand. He knew what Rodney was trying to do, and he appreciated it. Keep the blind man's thoughts off of the things he didn't want to think about.

"Just a pinch, Colonel," she said softly. "I'm going to run the IV first, then we'll add the sedative."

As he felt the needle pierce his skin, John was touched to feel Rodney's warm hand rest on his leg. That is, he'd thought it was McKay, until the lower-toned voice drawled, "You rate VIP service, Sheppard. Doctor Lam's the best."

Mitchell had returned, and though the voice had an edge of light heartedness, there was also a thin vein of warmth that made Sheppard wonder at its presence. He didn't know Mitchell any more than the others in the SGC, but there was something there –

"Ronon, and Teyla?" he asked, trying to ignore the work Lam was doing to his hand. She'd found the vein and was taping the needle securely to the back of his hand. John also kept his eyes closed. He was unsettled – wishing to be just about anywhere else other than here. This wasn't what he'd prepared for. A simple gate in, try the healing device, and it'd either work or not. He hadn't bargained for undergoing tests first, and sedation, and dealing with meeting SG-1, though to be fair, he'd only met half. Jackson he'd met briefly before in Antarctica, but Teal'c he had yet to see – fuck –to meet.

"Teal'c is – showing them the gym," Mitchell said, the amusement back stronger than before. "I think Teal'c and Dex have found familiar ground."

Rodney snorted, and said, "Who's running the betting pool? I want twenty on Ronon."

"Twenty," Mitchell replied, mocking. "I put fifty on Teal'c. Show some team support."

John rolled his head back and forth slightly, because they were both wrong. "A hundred on Teyla." Cold liquid traced up his veins from the IV port.

"You'll have to get with your bookies later, gentlemen," Lam said. She patted John's thigh reassuringly. "The Colonel is about to take a nice nap. Nighty night, Colonel."

He felt the port attached to his hand move as she injected the sedative, and waited for the sleepiness to steal over him. It didn't take long before he slid into softness, with Rodney near his head and Mitchell still keeping a warm hand on his leg. And he wasn't feeling so scared this time.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **I've got to really take the time to thank my betas. I don't think I have ever pestered and bothered and given them as much work as this story, especially here towards the end. They've been a lifeline to help me steer through it, even while putting up with my ongoing mantra of just how much hate I've got for this. It's truly a love-hate relationship (so don't worry, I don't completely 'hate' it, just…hate it…sometimes). It looks (tentatively) that there will be two more chapters. Also, thank you everyone, for reading, and leaving feedback, even if it's just 'nice job', it really helps to hear it. I'd offer you the character of your choice for a day – but, well, I don't own them! Enjoy (the length should absolve some of my guilt for taking a few days on this one).

**Chapter Thirteen**

"_Do you think this will work?" _

"_Honestly, I'm not sure. But it's worth a shot. I can't imagine – losing everything. Having to give up what you love -"_

"_I can."_

John was content to keep his eyes closed, and listen, not tipping off that he was back to being fully awake. The voices he recognized as Carter and Mitchell were off some distance away, muted, and John was pretty sure he hadn't been meant to overhear them talking about him.

It grew quiet again, and he wondered if McKay was around; probably not considering the brief conversation between the two members of SG-1. John doubted they'd talk about him in front of McKay; more likely Rodney was off getting his set of tests. The sedative wasn't meant to last long, and Sheppard noted the absence of the IV already. As much as he hadn't wanted to be knocked out, he figured it'd been for the best. He'd actually had a couple of MRI's before, and Lam wasn't exaggerating when she said they were loud. Like gunshots, fired in succession.

A loud sound intruded, one he quickly identified as his privacy curtain being pulled back – it was a distinctive sound, metal sliding against metal - above and to his left. He opened his eyes. "Rodney?"

"Sorry, Mitchell – that would be me." There was a breeze as the other man moved to sit in the chair beside John. "I know we haven't really met – bar room brawl stand down notwithstanding," lazy amusement was clear in his voice, "but I think we have a lot more in common than you realize."

"You're a pilot," John accused, soft and raspy. He was still a little groggy from the sedative, and he resented the connection. Because a pilot is something he might never be again. If he had to pick one person in the SGC to offer him sympathy, it wouldn't be another pilot. It was like offering running shoes to the guy in the wheelchair.

"Yes," Mitchell drawled, oblivious to Sheppard's internal thoughts. "But it's more than that. I know what you're going through."

Before Sheppard could say he really can't – and maybe John was just a little pissed at the insinuation that this guy could, Mitchell explained. "A while ago, after we defeated the Goa'uld attack against Earth, I was left critically injured." Mitchell paused, letting the information sink in, and John wondered if maybe his face was as readable as an open book, because there was something in Mitchell's voice that tipped Sheppard off that he knew what John felt.

"I was told I'd never walk again," Mitchell said, dropping the hammer stroke.

It wasn't that Sheppard was in the habit of ignoring people, but he was lost in trying to find what to say. The right level of emotional detachment, optimism and humor, so he didn't come out sounding like he needed pity, or was as emotionally wrecked as he felt from time to time – and everything that came to mind, he discarded. It wasn't like this was McKay next to him, where he could simply say 'shut up' if he couldn't handle the bonding moment. Or, if he needed it, John knew they'd progressed to the point where he did feel comfortable revealing more of himself to the scientist that had became his friend. If it'd been Teyla – someone who seemed to get into his head and know him better than he sometimes thought he knew himself, or even Ronon, whose black and white acceptance made it easy because John knew he could say something as dramatic as 'I'm going to kill myself' and the runner would say 'knock it off' and it'd be done. Then, John would've been able to find something to say.

John stared up at the ceiling - it didn't do any good to look at Mitchell, but he was thinking about what the colonel had said. The last line had been delivered with the impact that Mitchell had expected. Not being able to walk again. That was as career ending as blindness, and just about as bad – a tie, maybe. Between the two, that was a hard call to make. Paralyzed or blind. John couldn't see taking one over the other. "Why didn't they use the healing device – or did they?" Sheppard finally asked, curious.

"Nope. It was all on me." The reply was solid, mid-range, too care free for John to believe that in retrospect, maybe even Colonel Mitchell bore a little bit of resentment over what he'd had to endure. "Hell," continued Mitchell. "Imagine what it'd be like if Sam was called in to heal every soldier." John had to admit, it was probably a good point. Mitchell kept talking, and there was that indefinable emotion there that John couldn't pin down, and he doubted that Mitchell himself realized it was there. "Even within the SGC it'd wind up being too much for her. It's not a feasible solution, and I was just another F302 pilot."

That'd be like calling McKay 'just another scientist'. He was the scientist. It might not be a pleasant thought, to consider some lives more disposable than others, but it was what it was. Rodney was the on-site genius, and there was only one of him. Sheppard had wondered if this entire trip was for his benefit, or McKay's. He had a pretty good suspicion that if he'd been the only one with the job-ending injuries, he'd be on the Daedalus with a one-way ticket to a rehabilitation home. Air Force Colonel's were a dime a dozen, but highly intelligent and skilled Stargate trained astrophysicists weren't.

John shook his head slightly. "You're a member of SG-1," he argued.

"I wasn't back then. Just one more soldier – but that's not why I'm here, Colonel." There was a sound that made Sheppard think the man had leaned forward in the chair. When he continued his voice was sincere. "Look – I'm crap at this. What I'm trying to say is just hang tough, I've been there. It's not easy, but you'll get through it."

Did Mitchell know John's history? The black mark that made too many of his colleagues regard him with barely concealed distaste – distrust. He didn't want to be here, having this conversation with this guy. "I'm not you," John said stiffly. "You don't know anything about me."

There was a rueful chuckle. "Not exactly. I read your file – read the mission reports from Atlantis. Sorry it couldn't be a two-way street, but, anyway -"

"You've read my file?" John didn't know whether to be pissed or – relieved. He could hear the amusement in Mitchell's voice, could imagine the smile on the man's face.

"And you wouldn't – if the positions had been reversed?" Mitchell asked lazily. "Sheppard, there are a lot of rules in the military – and not all of them are the right rules. I'd like to think someone who cares enough to screw their career over human lives is someone worth keeping around."

Well, that sucked on a lot of levels. One, John couldn't see Mitchell to gauge the man's opinion of him – was he being serious or patronizing, and two, Mitchell's comments meant Sheppard had to face that maybe he couldn't keep judging every one in the military by the same book he'd been clinging to since everything had gone to hell in a hand basket over the skies of Afghanistan.

Before he could formulate a response – and John really didn't know what to say - there was a page over the intercom calling for Colonel Mitchell to report to the General's office.

"Guess I should've turned in that report after all," Mitchell deadpanned. John heard him stand. A hand tapped against his leg – "I'll be back, to see how it's going." Mitchell started to walk away, but the footsteps stopped. "Think about what I said."

The sound of Mitchell walking away started again, and Sheppard heard the door open as the colonel left, shutting behind him. The conversation left Sheppard confused. The unexpected support was…unexpected. Despite General O'Neill's talk in the helicopter to 'quit being stupid', John had known if it hadn't been for pressure from Elizabeth, he wouldn't have been on the expedition. O'Neill hadn't been as condescending as Sumner – but Sheppard knew the man had viewed the black mark on his record, and considered it against him. The fact that Mitchell didn't automatically judge him for what was on paper flew in the face of everything John had told himself to accept after he'd accepted the orders to McMurdo. Ironically, the same mindset Mitchell was advising now, is what he'd told himself then. That he'd learn to get through it, one day at a time – but then he'd found that he liked Antarctica, and the quiet simplicity of life at McMurdo.

John stared at the ceiling, and concentrated on the fact that he wouldn't have to get through anything anymore, because the damn device would work, and that would be it. He tried not to dwell on the waiting, but his mind circled from one point to the next, and always ended up on what he would do if this didn't work.

"John?"

Sheppard flinched, and turned quickly towards the voice. "Teyla?" He hadn't heard anything – but then again, this was Teyla.

"Rodney is finishing with his tests. Colonel Carter has gone to retrieve the device," she explained, and he could tell from the pitch of her voice that she'd moved nearer to his side as she talked.

He nodded. The butterflies that bloomed were ignored. "Ronon?"

"Teal'c has convinced him to watch…Star Wars," she said, with a question in her voice.

"Good movie," John smiled. "You'd like it." It was the stupid things, like realizing he'd never see Star Wars again, if this didn't work. And he hadn't watched the movie in years. Suddenly, seeing Han Solo swoop to Luke's rescue, blasting Vader off his buddy's tail, seemed like the thing to see. "What I'm trying to say, is that you don't have to stay – go watch the movie."

Warm fingers enveloped his colder ones, and she said, "We will watch it together, when you are healed."

Voices growing louder interrupted any reply he was going to say, and right away he picked out McKay's sarcastic bluster – "I'm just saying that my brain happens to be a valuable commodity for mankind, and make sure you don't screw it up with that thing – leave holes, or gaps, or take IQ points with it when you turn it off."

"It doesn't work that way, McKay," Carter replied testily.

"So you say, but have you ever – oh, look, sleeping beauty is awake."

John really missed the ability to glare. He still tried, but he wasn't sure how effective it was when he couldn't see. "Can you set that thing to remove his ego?" he poked.

"But that's what you love the most about me," McKay replied cockily. John listened to the progression of feet. He knew Carter was there, McKay and Teyla, but he'd heard someone else.

"How do you feel, Colonel?" asked the someone else from off to his right. Doctor Lam.

"Ready," he admitted. And despite poking fun at Rodney, he got what McKay was saying. "It won't do any damage, right? Because as much of a pain in the ass as Rodney can be, I prefer him as is."

"The healing device is perfectly safe," Lam assured him. "Now, who wants to go first?" she asked, too upbeat for John.

The room got quiet – waiting. Everyone probably thought he wanted to go first, but suddenly, he wasn't ready. Nerves, the what-ifs, call it what you will, but John didn't want to be first. "McKay," he offered. "I'll wait."

"I can't believe you're volunteering me to be the guinea pig," Rodney retorted. But the thin humor underlying the not-so cutting statement let John know just how much of it that Rodney got. He knew why John had volunteered him to go first. John needed the extra time with the hope, because if it failed, then that was the end. No hope, no more promises of a miracle cure – the only thing that would remain would be the need for John to accept how it would be for the rest of his life, and he wasn't sure he could do that.

"That's exactly it," agreed Sheppard. "But Teyla will have to tell me if your head spins in circles and you vomit pea soup. Or start repeating random numbers and obsess over the zipper on your pants."

"Colonel," remonstrated Lam.

"Doctor, this is merely their way of pretending they are not nervous."

John frowned in Teyla's direction. "They are right here."

"No kidding," chimed in McKay. "You spend two months living together, and suddenly everyone thinks they're the authority on your hidden objectives."

"Am I wrong?" Teyla asked pointedly.

"That's beside the point." There was a sound of clothes shifting, and John wondered what was going on before Rodney continued, "Fine – just, do it. I've still got a headache despite the meager pain killer you gave me, and I'm tired of feeling like my right hand is going into temporal convulsions."

John slid off his gurney, fighting back some mild queasiness left over from the sedative, and allowed Teyla to guide him towards McKay. She'd never let go of his hand from before, and though he appreciated the support, his palm was getting sweaty. Once she had him anchored to McKay, he wiped the perspiration against his pants, and fumbled for Rodney's right. The one that was shaking – trembling with uncontrolled muscle spasms that he knew wore McKay out, and added to the general weariness from what they'd been through. "Let me know if you feel two heads growing, or anything unusual and potentially maiming," Rodney whispered his way.

"Will do," John whispered softly back.

He wasn't sure where Lam and Carter were standing, but when the device turned on, John heard the humming somewhere in front of him, and up, towards McKay's head.

"That's not bad," McKay murmured, sounding oddly sleepy. "In fact – this is actually…pleasant. Carson would be out of a job if we had this on Atlantis."

But John's attention drifted from Rodney's words to the hand clasped in his own. He placed his other further up on McKay's arm. The trembles were sputtering like a misfired engine, and the time between new tremors became longer – until suddenly they were gone, and didn't come back.

"Rodney?" he asked, wondering if McKay could see out of his right eye again. Wondering how he felt.

The humming clicked off, and feet moved towards him. "He's asleep," Lam whispered, pulling his hands off of Rodney. "Your turn."

"Teyla, stay with him." It wasn't exactly an order – more like a strong request.

She touched his arm briefly. "Are you sure?" she asked. "He is sleeping, and you may need -"

John shook his head. "I'm fine - just…he should have someone there if he wakes up."

There was understanding amusement in Lam's voice when she said, "I think he'll be asleep for a while, Colonel – now, you, back to your bed."

John let the doctor help him back to his gurney and re-settled on the bed. The butterflies were back with their larger friends, albatrosses – yeah, that was a pretty good description. His stomach felt tight from the nervous clenching. He'd force his muscles to relax, only to find them tensed moments later.

"Hey," greeted Mitchell from somewhere down by John's feet. "The General wanted me to wish you good luck."

"You didn't have to come back." John's voice was hoarse – the nerves were beginning to eat him alive. He hadn't even heard the colonel approach.

"I know." Mitchell's answer was short and to the point – something Sheppard was beginning to equate to the man's personality, but there was also that lazy humor clear in his tone. "I also thought you might want to know; Teal'c is trying to convince Ronon that building a lightsaber is a worthwhile project. So – you might want to speed this healing thing up before they raid the lab for parts."

John started to sit back up. "What?"

There was a low chuckle from Mitchell. "They're even rounding up Doctor Lee to help, I think."

"Cam," the doctor warned, pushing John back with a hand on his chest.

"If you're ready, Colonel?" Carter moved closer to his side, and John smelled her perfume. It was lighter and more subtle than the scent Teyla wore on Nokomis, and it did nothing for his unsettled stomach. John nodded, just enough to get across his answer, and tightened his jaw, trying to get prepared mentally if not physically. Lightsabers. Jesus.

The device began humming like it had with McKay, and he felt warmth build in his head. He wondered if it was supposed to do that, but the level maintained a comfortable feeling and never grew to a painful amount. John kept his momentary fears to himself. It actually felt – lulling. The humming noise combined with the warmth, he felt…sluggish.

John was barely aware when it clicked off, but a soft touch on his shoulder made him roll his head in the general direction. "Done already?" he asked, his voice slurred a little from the sleepiness that had crept up on him out of nowhere.

"Colonel, it's been ten minutes," Lam replied. She lifted his hand, and took his pulse. "We've turned the lights down. The tiredness is a normal after-effect, but before we let you sleep, can you open your eyes for us?"

His eyes were closed? Frowning, he blinked a few times, finding it hard to keep them open, but as he tried, the light and blurry objects began to appear, brief snapshots each time he got them open. "There's something there," he muttered. John really wanted to get up, and look, and find out how good he could see again, but the lethargy held him tight in its grip. "Why am I so tired?" he mumbled.

"It's the healing process. The device works by using your own energy to heal the damage," Carter explained. Still blinking, John was finally able to place a voice to a blurry figure the few times he managed to keep his eyes open for more than a second.

"I can see," John muttered, and he knew he sounded drugged, but he was also excited. The draining fatigue was making the entire thing almost anticlimactic, and he realized that part of the problem was the fact that Rodney had already slipped into his own healing sleep, and he'd insisted Teyla stay with McKay. Ronon was watching Luke do that Force thing, which left him with none of his team to share this with.

"Get some sleep, Colonel. Your eyesight will be there when you wake up."

Mitchell's voice was warm, and during slower intermittent blinks, John could make out a blurry smile from the man standing at the end of his bed. He tried to raise up, but the persistent Lam pushed him firmly back down. Your eyesight will be there when you wake up – he repeated it to himself. Those were probably the sweetest words John had ever heard, and he gave up his fight to stay awake. His world wasn't dark anymore, and John wanted to announce it to the world even as the fatigue sucked him into a healing sleep.

OoO

Waking up later was probably something John would forever remember as one of the defining moments in his life; when he opened his eyes, slowly at first, and then keeping them open for longer every time, he saw – everything. Despite some lingering fuzziness that Lam assured him would dissipate as his optic nerve stabilized and essentially retrained itself, John stared at the gurney he was on. His eyes roved from the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, to the pale green privacy curtains, to his team lounging around his bed.

Rodney, with a broad grin as he locked eyes with John, and saw that Sheppard was staring at him. John fought to swallow the painful lump, nodding a small amount – yeah. He could see. He pulled his eyes away from that oddly beautiful face, and moved over, smiling at Teyla.

She nodded to him, "You can see again, John." When she took a deep breath, and blinked a few times herself, nostrils flaring with the strong emotions of having him returned to them –

"And you're a sight for sore eyes," he breathed.

Ronon pushed off the bed he was leaning on. "Good. I wasn't going to follow anyone else's orders, and I like missions with you – plenty of opportunity to kill Wraith."

John chuckled. That was about as close to openly admitting any affection as the runner had gotten in their two month ordeal. "You never follow my orders."

"Teyla told me not to."

She turned her head around to glare at Ronon. "That is not what I said."

McKay slid off his bed, and dropped into a chair next to Sheppard. John realized that he was still lying in bed, and he didn't have to anymore. It was over. No more tests, beds, wheelchairs, guiding hands – nothing. The smile returned in force. His eyes locked back on to Rodney. Seeing Ronon and Teyla arguing, seeing the matching grin on McKay's face, seeing everything all over again - it was like seeing the Thunderbirds for the first time, or waking up for school only to find the ground covered in white and finding out it's a snow day. It was magic.

"I assume we're all back in Technicolor?" Rodney queried, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You're a bit fuzzy, but what else is new," he joked. John gestured towards McKay's right side. "How about you?"

"Fuzzy? I was never fuzzy – but if you're poorly inferring I'm still indefinable, mysterious, that edge of something…then yes, I still am – it's McKay, Rodney McKay – and look, there's Pussy Galore," he returned, thumbing towards Teyla. "As to your question, everything's good as new." Rodney rolled his shoulders and looked rueful. "Better than before, actually – I always had this tennis elbow -"

"Doctor Lam ran more tests while you slept," interjected Teyla, frowning at the reference to herself that she didn't understand. "She seemed pleased with the results." She cocked her head slightly. "Who is this Pussy Galore?"

Pleased. John figured that was probably the mildest term possible for how he felt. When Beckett had offered the hope of the healing device, he'd felt a lot of emotions, and most of it had been fear – that it would fail, or only get him partially healed, still incapable of flying. Now that it had worked – pleased. It didn't do how he felt justice. Not even close.

"A very attractive woman of film legend," Rodney answered with a sugary smile. "And you happen to be a very attractive -"

John groaned. He could completely see this going bad. "Athosian that could kick your ass."

"What are you trying to say, McKay?" Ronon stated, folding his arms.

"Relax, Chewie -"

Sheppard's eyes opened wider. McKay didn't know that Teal'c had shown Ronon Star Wars. The look on Ronon said it all.

"Are you calling me an oversized furry animal?" Ronon bristled, folded arms unfolding.

"Teal'c had him watch Star Wars while we were being tested and treated," John explained dryly, as Rodney's jaw dropped.

"Great," McKay retorted. "Another one of our cultural icons demystified. Look – being called Chewie isn't an insult, now if I'd compared you to an Ewok -"

While Rodney blundered into having to explain Return of the Jedi, John took the opportunity to study his team without them realizing what he was doing. Staring at their faces, he was surprised at how changed they looked from what he remembered before the mission to Nokomis. Everyone seemed older, and he wasn't sure if it was because his memories of them had grown vague or if it was a result of what they'd gone through.

John tried to figure out what the change was, when it came to him. It was their eyes – that was the difference. Older, wiser – sadder. Something indefinable was reflecting back, and he wondered if they knew it. He wondered if the same went for him. Because Sheppard hadn't been able to see, would his eyes still reflect the damage? Then again, maybe to them, they all looked the same. Maybe it was the problem with gradual change – it happens slowly, and you never see it happen until one day it's just there, but because he hadn't seen them for so long it stood out to John like tattooed proof of their hard experiences in Nokomis.

It wasn't like other missions that had gone bad. Those missions had been short, life or death, but everything was resolved in such a short span of time that they'd often been left without the time to really get the implications before another crisis had loomed. Not this time. Two months of recovery, and living in a stifling underground city, never sure if they'd get out, if they'd recover, if they'd get to live their old lives again.

John drank in their faces – knowing it would be a while before he tired of doing it, and then moved on, realizing that 'Chewie' still looked pissed at Rodney. Deciding to change the topic and smooth feathers, he asked, "So, who won – Teyla or Ronon?"

"Five letter word for girl power?" cracked McKay.

"You owe me a hundred," Sheppard smirked. That was when the Star Wars topic finally jarred a memory from before. "And, just so we're clear, no lightsabers," he said, staring at a suddenly guilty looking Ronon. "Lasers are dangerous – and that weapon you've got is bad enough."

"It wasn't my idea," the runner defended.

McKay had this introspective look, and John groaned. Why did he suddenly think when they got back to Atlantis that parts would start disappearing, and the Force would suddenly be with them all –

Even though John could see again, his hearing was still in high gear. Because of it, he heard the approaching group of people before any of his team did, so it wasn't a surprise when SG-1, including Jackson and Teal'c, arrived with Lam and General Landry. The area around John's bed grew a lot more crowded, but God, he could see it all.

"Colonel Sheppard, Doctor Lam tells me the treatment was successful," Landry said with the same smile that John had sensed before in his tone, but hadn't been able to see.

Jackson looked warmly at Carter. "Sam's our miracle worker."

"Indeed," intoned Teal'c. "Ronon – I have found another show I believe you would like, if you are not -"

Sheppard straightened on the gurney. "No lightsabers," he warned.

Teal'c smiled slightly, and bowed just a touch, the warrior's way of acquiescing, John figured. Ronon had gotten a feral grin, and slapped Teal'c on the back. "I'm free."

As they walked off, John shared a look with his remaining team, then back to the other members of SG-1. "Colonel Carter, I appreciate what you've done– but tell me he's not going to show him another Star Wars movie?"

Landry snorted. "Actually, it's The Rocky Horror Picture Show." When Jackson, Carter and Mitchell's eyes opened in surprise, Landry shrugged. "I saw the DVD case in his pocket. He's your teammate. I just run the place – I'm not the morale censor."

"If either one comes to my infirmary dressed in drag, I'm holding you responsible," Lam scolded, but the subtle smile wasn't lost on any of them.

"Right," Mitchell said, shaking his head for a second. "Sheppard – we were wondering if you and your team would like to go out for a drink, you know, shake off some of the tension you guys have been under after everything."

McKay snapped his fingers, twice, "Oh, hey – I know this museum -"

"I was thinking more of a bar," drawled Mitchell.

The entire time everyone was talking, John found himself staring. Taking in the appearances of SG-1, from Mitchell's short brown hair to Sam's ruffled blond style. Faces to names, something he hadn't thought he'd ever be able to do again.

"Where you go is at your discretion, Colonel, but remember, Teyla and Ronon are new here, so don't do anything stupid," Landry reminded. "And no all-nighters; all of you have reports that need to be filed -" he looked pointedly at Mitchell more than the others, "- still."

Teyla looked to John. He shrugged. Why not – maybe it was what they needed to erase some of that haunted look to them all. "Sure," he agreed. It'd give him more excuse for people watching. He felt like an idiot, but the simple act of staring was more appealing than ever.

Jackson pulled a paper out of his uniform jacket, and stared at it awkwardly, before handing it to Carter. "Er, why don't you make the reservations – I went there last time with Jack, and -"

She nodded, smiling briefly. "I got it, Daniel."

"Right," he said. "Okay – I've got some more translations to work on before we go, so – Colonel, or, Colonels, I will see you at -," he looked at his watch, "– seven?"

Everyone agreed on seven o'clock, before filtering away to their respective duties. Landry left to do more of the General thing that he bitched about on his way out the door, something about a Sergeant in a civilian hospital with two broken legs from a skiing accident. Lam left with him, and John figured it was because the Sergeant needed transport to the SGC infirmary.

Daniel Jackson left needing to work on an artifact SG-1 had discovered on their last mission and dragged Carter with him to answer some technical questions that had made her eyes get this rabid look to them, which left Mitchell. He rocked on his feet, before asking, "So, guess we're the ones with nothing to do – basketball?"

A game of basketball and then an evening out with SG-1 and his team, it was tempting, but the reality of introducing Ronon and Teyla to bars wasn't lost on him. Granted, neither one was unfamiliar with seedy places in the Pegasus galaxy – but it wasn't Earth – where the freaks literally did come out at night. As much as John was pretty sure that he should listen to the bell of trouble tolling in his ear, he also wanted to go work off some of the bottled tension he'd been under for so long; play hard, party hard. He hadn't done that in a long time, and the last time had also been with someone named Dex.

Shaking off long buried memories, John smiled. "Sounds good," he accepted. "But I get Teyla on my team."

Mitchell sported a boyish grin as he slapped Rodney on his back. "Deal – let's go; Doctor McKay, I've got some shorts you can change into."

Later, as he ducked another punch, and watched as Teal'c threw a guy across a table, John muttered, "An Athosian, a Satedan and a Jaffa walk into a bar…"


	14. Chapter 14

AN: I think there was some confusion that thirteen was the final chapter – even though it would've been a nice ending spot, there was still some moments I wanted to visit with the team. A bit more insight into the emotional fall-out, so this chapter and fifteen will visit those areas. The final chapter will be coming in the next few days. I'm sorry the updates slowed but once they gated back to Atlantis (what – was that 10?) anyway, it became new material because I had to change things to fix a plot hole. So, add in that my chapters tend to be 3-5k, it takes a few days. I do appreciate you all hanging in there with me, and thank you gaffer, Kylen, Linzi and Shelly. Not only helping me with edits, suggestions and support, but also putting up with my whining (and yes, I've whined a LOT in the writing of this fic). So, stay tuned for the final (yes, it IS the final this time) chapter where we'll see our team back on Atlantis.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Hindsight was a funny thing. On one hand – it let you see clearly, in painful detail, every mistake you made to get from here to there. On the other – it never changed what happened. Sheppard tended to think that hindsight was a product of malcontent – pointing out mistakes while never offering a do-over. And looking up at Landry's barely contained anger, John kind of wished for a do-over.

With the exception of Ronon and Teyla, both of whom were in the infirmary sleeping away an alcoholic stupor, SG-1 along with Rodney and himself, were sitting at the briefing table. Frankly, John was amazed Landry had allowed them to sit – but then he figured the General's concession came because of the civilians on both teams.

The General sat at the head of the table staring off through the viewing glass; he swiveled to face them, before shaking his head and swiveling back to look out at the Stargate. Finally, with a barely controlled voice, he asked, "I was under the impression that I warned all of you not to do anything stupid. In fact, I'm a hundred percent sure I did. So tell me, what part of this -" he waved at their dejected figures. "Is not doing anything stupid?"

Mitchell cleared his throat. "General, I know this sounds incredibly lame, or trite, even stretching, but - it wasn't our fault."

Landry's face reflected pure enjoyment, but of the kind a vulture has in swooping at his prey. "Wasn't your fault?" he echoed. With calm precision he withdrew the arrest report, and John figured there wasn't a hole big enough for all of them to sink into. "Complaint of drunk and disorderly conduct – attacking a man; how is this 'not your fault'?"

"Sir, it's…" Carter paused, and looked over at Rodney. McKay shook his head and covered his face with his hands. "…a long story."

Landry leaned back in his chair, and smiled with a feral grin. "I have all the time in the world, Colonel."

"In that case, General -" Jackson leaned forward, a mixture of sheepishness and exasperation on his face, and Sheppard guessed the man was as good a person to try and explain it as any of them. "We left the SGC for Mike's Pub at 1900 as planned…

"_Does anyone know where we parked?" joked Mitchell, scanning the parking lot._

"_Parked?" Teyla was scanning the area, uneasy. John figured it would be a bit weird, never having seen this type of vehicle and now being faced with rows and rows of them. Then again, she hadn't seen a mall parking lot during December – on a weekend, no less._

_The truly funny thing was, Sheppard was pretty sure he mimicked her expression, but for different reasons. He looked at the blue, red, yellow – silver. The parking lot was a sea of colors, dotted with the occasional black truck or sports car. Like all the other sights, he drank it in, and thanked God he could see again._

_McKay squinted in the setting sunlight. "These are like the transports on Nokomis," he explained. John knew none of them were comfortable at the reference but it was the easiest way to explain. "Except, remember the autopilot that…surprised me?"_

"_Impressed you," interjected Sheppard._

_Rodney rolled his eyes towards the sky. "Whatever. We don't have that. You have to do the work yourself."_

"_We're all gonna fit in one of those?" Ronon asked skeptically._

"_No, I'm taking mine, and Mitchell will take the rest of you," Carter explained. She surveyed the group. "Teyla, Teal'c and Ronon – I'm parked over here."_

"_What," Rodney blustered. "You don't want to spend more quality time with me?" He put a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded."_

"Mitchell," Landry called, breaking into Sheppard's reverie. He'd been listening to Jackson, and had stopped paying attention to the room.

From the flushed look on Mitchell's face, John hadn't been the only one. "Yes, Sir," answered Mitchell.

Jackson had stopped and now stared uncertainly at Landry. The general nodded his way and said, "As – thorough – as Doctor Jackson can be, I'd like to keep this more succinct. The fight, if you please?"

Disgruntled, Jackson folded back into his chair, and twitched his ice pack over his cheek. When Mitchell looked Jackson's way, John noticed he shook his head and mouthed to Mitchell 'he wants you' and Sheppard didn't think he was imagining the almost sibling like glee the archeologist took from being bumped.

Clearing his throat again, Mitchell straightened, letting his ice pack fall from its precarious perch on his head. "Right – we arrived at the bar…

_When they walked into Mike's Pub, the music was blaring to the point of causing everyone to shout over the noise. Teyla and Ronon looked uneasy, and John figured right away it was their long history of relying on hearing to help identify trouble. He was having his own issues with the music – the fact that his hearing still felt like it was on speed. Hypertuned and not filtering near enough background noise out of his mind._

_The door opened up to a foyer, then the room curved around a recessed pit where the bar with stools was located. On the higher level above were booths. Sheppard was staring at all the people; the television airing a football game. Mitchell tugged at him, giving up on hollering over the music of some new artist John couldn't name._

"_Hey, baby," a man crooned._

_Sheppard was about to explain he wasn't anyone's baby, when he realized the guy meant Teyla, and was leaning half over him to get to her. John was on the verge of telling the guy to buzz off, when her eyes surveyed the man in slow motion and she said frostily, "I am not your baby."_

"_But you can be," he smiled crookedly._

_There for a second, John almost felt sorry for the guy, but then he tried to grab for Teyla. Sheppard found himself caught between the two, when Ronon stepped forward. "Is there a problem?" he rumbled, looking pointedly at the man while he addressed Teyla and Sheppard._

_The man stepped back, and John got to breathe again. Jesus. "No, no problem," the man assured._

"So – that's what caused the fight?" Landry exclaimed, satisfied to finally get to the crux of the matter.

"Not yet, Sir," Mitchell explained, looking disgruntled. "Ronon scared him off."

"I see," Landry replied tightly. "So, what did cause the fight?

The ice pack Mitchell had dropped earlier was warming on the table. Sheepishly, he shrugged. "Nothing yet, Sir – I was getting there." He picked up the ice pack and pushed it back against the knot above his hairline. John winced a little at the memory of how he'd gotten that one. Tables and heads – neither one gave much leeway. Mitchell had looked better.

Sheppard had guilt. He knew that SG-1 wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for his team, but at the same time, he was still enjoying watching people. Watching them interact. Their expressions, body language – all the things he'd been deprived of doing for two months.

Of course, it was getting a little harder with his right eye swelling like a lemon. His own ice pack, handed to him by a stern Doctor Lam, sat on his lap. He couldn't quite bring himself to cover up his sight even if the damn thing hurt like hell.

Rodney had moved to a lower position – head now cradled in his hands on the table. John wondered if he was even following the retelling and figured McKay was probably practicing self-preservation.

"Sir, if I may?" Carter asked.

Landry pursed his lips together, and his eyes surveyed the table. Mitchell and his ice pack, Jackson every now and then wincing and touching his split lip. Teal'c sitting impassively solid next to Mitchell – then to the other side where Carter sat to McKay's left, and John on Rodney's right. Carter had escaped with the least amount of injury. Even drunk, the men had been leery of 'beating up' a woman. Shame, too, because Carter didn't have the same issues. McKay had a sore hand – split knuckles, but he wasn't using his ice pack, either.

"Go ahead, Colonel – but this time, a bit more to the point, shall we?" Landry drawled.

She nodded tersely. "Yes, Sir. After we got to our table…

_John couldn't believe he'd agreed to this. Mitchell had guided them to one of those circular booths, and somehow John was squeezed between Teal'c and McKay. Ronon had finagled an outside position, while Jackson got the other one. Teyla was on Mitchell's other side and Carter on Rodney's right. It took cozy to a whole new level._

_The waitress sidled up, and Sheppard did a double take – was she even old enough to be in a bar? He realized that it'd been a long time since he'd been in a place like this._

"_What'll it be, guys?" she asked, perkily surveying them each at a time._

_Teyla narrowed her eyes. "I am not a guy."_

"That's what started the fight?" Landry said, perplexed but also with hope in his eyes. "Hell, that's not even an insult."

"No, Sir," Mitchell replied. "That wasn't what started the fight."

The General's irritation was rising. "I asked for an explanation – not the cliff notes for the entire night, people. The point, please."

Teal'c looked up from the table. "General, I believe I can lend some assistance," he said, solemn but attempting to smooth the situation. "Ronon and Teyla had not sampled beer before -"

"_What is this...beer?" Teyla asked, looking carefully at the mug of pale liquid bubbling in front of her._

_Mitchell took a sip, and wiped his mouth. "It's a drink – look, we're all fine, right? Ronon – come on guys, it's our treat, drink up. Tastes good, right Sheppard?_

"_Very," agreed John as he nudged McKay, who was taking a long gulp of his own. "Slow down, Rodney – I don't want you to pass out on me."_

"_No way," hissed Rodney. "I'm doing everything I can to forget the last two months ever happened."_

_Sheppard leaned back, draping his arm on the back of the booth. McKay kind of had a point. Maybe drinking into oblivion wasn't a bad idea. He sipped his own mug, and watched as Teyla tried hers, smiled – then grimaced, but she took another drink, and each one grew progressively longer until the mug was empty. She smiled pleasantly at Jackson and said, "More?"_

_John shrugged when the man looked at him. Why not – it wasn't like they had to get up and face the Wraith in the morning. This was the only down time they'd had in so long he couldn't remember, and for once, there wasn't any danger lurking to pounce if they let their guard down. His team deserved to cut loose, even if it was only for one night._

_Jackson slid from the seat, and asked for a count, before wandering off to the bar in the center to order another round. John's was still half-full and he wasn't in any rush. This was pretty much as close to heaven as he could remember being. Ensconced by his team, and even SG-1, so good company – a mug of cold beer, loud music in the background. And so many people to watch._

"_Why isn't there any of this on Atlantis?" Ronon asked._

_All six remaining faces blanked. Ronon looked around. "What?"_

Landry exploded. "He mentioned Atlantis – in a bar?" The General's head was shaking back and forth. "I can't believe I let you take them to a bar," he said, staring now at Mitchell. "So, that's what started the fight – someone said something about it to Ronon, and he threw a punch?"

Sheppard took umbrage at the implied insult that Ronon was a wild cannon. "No, Sir – fortunately, no one overheard his statement. We explained it wasn't a topic for a bar, and that's when Jackson arrived with the mugs."

The look on the general's face would have been comical – something John could even appreciate, given his recent state, but it wasn't so comical when he gripped the arrest sheet tight enough that it crumpled in his hands. "I see," he said. He smoothed it out, and placed it carefully on the table. "Then what, someone please, please, tell me, caused the fight?"

Teal'c shifted his legs under the table. "I believe, General, that it was not any fault of ours – in fact, the arresting officer chose to believe the worst because of the condition we found ourselves in."

"And that condition would that be?" Landry was maintaining his composure…barely.

"Three of our party were – inebriated, while the remainder of our group were -" Teal'c paused, and looked at Carter, then Jackson. When Mitchell inclined his head towards Teal'c and nodded, the Jaffa finished, "Standing over the instigators shouting 'hell yeah' I believe."

John thought it was pretty cool for the guy to lump himself in with the rest of them. Actually, Teal'c hadn't said anything to the effect. It'd been mostly Sheppard, McKay and Mitchell. Jackson and Carter had been extricating Teyla and Ronon from their fallen opponents.

Cops could be short-sighted that way.

It was almost a smile that twitched at the edges of Landry's mouth, but the general reined himself in before they could believe the worst was over. He snorted, and pushed the paper back. "Fine, that explains why you eight were arrested – but it still doesn't explain how it started."

Sheppard figured maybe it was his turn. "It was Teyla, General."

The man nodded, and looked at him. "I see. If you would be so kind, Colonel, and tell me how she instigated the fight?"

John couldn't figure out if Landry believed him or not, but he felt kind of bad for shoving the blame on to Teyla – because it really wasn't her fault. "Well -" he cleared his throat. "It wasn't exactly Teyla, it's just…she was in the middle of the reason…"

"What Colonel Sheppard is so ineloquently trying to say, is that it's my fault," groaned McKay, speaking clearly from his position with his head still cradled in his arms.

At that announcement, Landry looked genuinely surprised. "You, Doctor McKay? You expect me to believe you started the bar fight?"

McKay raised his head, looking hung over and irate. "Oh, come on – is it that hard to believe I've got it in me?" he snapped.

"Actually – yes," Carter said with a grin. "At least I wouldn't have believed you were capable until I saw it for myself."

The General's mouth pursed as he considered them. "I consider myself a patient man – at least I did. Now would someone, please, tell me what caused the fight?" Landry fixed each one with a look that made it clear their time was up.

Rodney frowned at the ice pack near his hand. "Fine, fine – as if it matters now. When we were leaving, Teyla was…slightly intoxicated –

_The drunk man from before stumbled intentionally into Teyla, carrying both bodies to the floor. John knew that ordinarily, Teyla would've had the guy pinned in less than a minute, and probably wishing for his mother in two – but, interesting fact 2,001 John had learned since gating to the Pegasus Galaxy - Athosians really can't handle their alcohol._

_Before Ronon could start world war three in Mike's Pub, John reached for the guy, and yanked him off Teyla – hard. "That's not a very nice thing to do to a lady," he warned the guy, dusting off the drunk's shirt and then grabbing the man's collar in his hands. "So, apologize, and we'll forget this ever happened, hmm?" Maybe Sheppard was feeling a little testy, and was just hoping for the guy to give him a reason._

"_Forget what, you jerk," the man retorted, knocking Sheppard's hands loose. He turned away from John, and leaned down with a lecherous grin. "Come on, lil' lady, let's you and me find a nice quiet booth -"_

_John went to pull the guy back around, but Mitchell grabbed his arm, holding him. Sheppard turned to shake him off, and realized that Carter and Teal'c were dealing with a pissed Ronon – in both senses of the word – when McKay's voice made them all freeze._

"_I believe he asked you to apologize," Rodney said, overly polite. "I realize," now McKay's voice lulled into patronizing, "that you were undoubtedly born from Neanderthal stock, but even you – yes, you – are capable of polite behavior required in common society and all those nice little social mores that keep you out of prison. Right?" He squinted at the man, and John had a sinking feeling that McKay had a few too many beers, as well._

"_What?" the drunk asked, annoyed and confused. _

_Big words, little man. Big words, John thought. That was his McKay._

_Rodney looked sloppily at John, and he had a bad feeling about it, when he watched as if in slow motion, Rodney's arm pull back and snap forward, punching the drunk right on the nose and sending him staggering backwards. The man wasn't Ronon-large or anything, but he wasn't Zelenka-small either, and when he tripped on Teyla, he windmilled back and wound up crashing into another table, sending a Ronon-large guy's drink spilling onto his girlfriends expensive looking white dress. The guy took in his girlfriend's disgusted face, and turned to Sheppard and McKay, and the rest of them – and the grin that snaked across his face sent a thrill of alarm twisting through his gut. Or maybe that was adrenaline -_

_Mitchell looked at John. "Oh, shit."_

"That's it?" Landry exclaimed, dumbfounded. "The fight started when Doctor McKay decided to practice chivalry, and protect Teyla's honor?" He put his hands on the table and shook his head. "Why didn't you say so?" Landry pushed back from the table, and lifted the paper, peering at it. "I'll take care of the legal mumbo jumbo – but all of you, and I mean all -" Landry fixed his glare on Mitchell, Carter and Jackson. "Will be suspended from anymore bar visitations, is that clear?"

Mitchell looked out from under lidded eyes and croaked, "How long, Sir?"

"Until I say so!" barked Landry, striding out of the room.

No one moved for a few moments – John couldn't figure if it was a mixture of not quite believing it was over that easily, or if their muscles had seized from sitting for too long. Truthfully, it was probably both. He climbed to his feet, stifling a groan, and pulled on McKay. The Daedalus was shipping out in the morning, and they still had to pack while shaking off the after-effects of too much beer, and too many bruises.

SG-1 struggled to their feet, and Jackson peered at Sheppard. "You guys going to be okay, or should I call -"

"We're fine," John assured him. He couldn't subdue the grin. "In fact, I owe you guys." Before the fight, Sheppard hadn't realized just how much he'd needed it. All those weeks of walking around on eggshells. With himself, with everyone around him – no real outlet for excising those dark emotions. Sure, they'd thrown a bowl here and there – thrown a ball against steel walls – but nothing compared to throwing a punch at some drunk bastard who was stupid enough to get in your way after coming out of what they'd survived.

Jackson merely shook his head. "I don't get you pilots."

Because Mitchell was nodding with a knowing grin of his own, and clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulders. "You don't have to get us, you just have to like us."

"Er – right. Sam, that artifact, I really need you to figure out that power conversion -"

"Tonight?" Carter asked, exasperated. "Daniel, I'm going to sleep. Hopefully, I'll be able to get more than two hours."

Mitchell waved at Teal'c, "Let's go get some early breakfast, and head 'em off at the pass, what'd you say, big guy?" He looked at John. "You two up for some waffles?"

Rodney groaned some more, and John looked at his watch. Four hours till they had to be on the Daedalus. Waffles, say their goodbyes, pick up Ronon and Teyla – "Sure, why not. Come on, McKay – some waffles are just what you need to settle that beer-laden stomach."

"What I need to settle it - by causing me to throw-up, you mean," Rodney replied. "Seriously, I'm gonna be sick."

Green wasn't a good color for McKay. John lifted a sad eye at Mitchell and said, "We'll find you later."

There were understanding smirks from the two, but everyone filtered out of the briefing room, leaving Sheppard to help Rodney to their quarters. Once he got McKay to his bathroom, he ran cold water over a rag, and handed it to his sick friend. Rodney had heaved up most of his stomach contents, and was now leaning on the wall, having hit the flush button with clumsy movements. "I'm never drinking again," he swore to the wall.

"That's what we all say," John acknowledged. "Yet – here we are."

Rodney pulled the rag away from his face to focus on John. "You're not sick."

John shrugged casually from where he was leaning on the doorjamb. "I was too busy watching everyone else to drink much." Sheppard could think of a million reasons to just shut-up now and not say anything else, but then again, he also figured McKay probably wouldn't remember this conversation tomorrow.

The rag covered McKay's face again and he nodded. "Right. If only I'd used my intelligence to do the same."

"Maybe it's two eyes versus a one eye kind of thing," Sheppard offered. "Anyway – you okay? I've got to go pack, and check on Teyla and Ronon."

Rodney's head bobbed under the rag that he'd unfolded to cover his entire face. Good enough. John headed towards his quarters, suddenly glad Rodney had needed to skip breakfast with Mitchell and Teal'c. It was just as late - or early, depending on your perspective - as it felt. Four-hundred in the morning. The Daedalus would ship out at eight, and he had things to do before they left.

Enjoying the time alone, John wandered the few doors over to his own room, and instead of packing, sat on the bed. He realized that this was the first time he'd actually been alone since being healed by the device. Yesterday. It was now technically yesterday. He knew, just as certainly as he knew that the moon orbited the Earth and that not all Jaffa were bad, that he would mentally track each day until he'd lived an equal time post-recovery as he'd lived blind.

John had been on the brink of living the rest of his life blind. Rodney had been that close to being sentenced to a life of insistent tremors, only dulled with heavy muscle relaxers that made the rest of his body slack – and with limited vision. He shook his head – for that matter, they'd all been close to living life in an underground city and losing Ronon to a screwed-up penal system.

The bar fight wasn't anything more than a manifestation of their frustrations – well, his and McKay's. Teyla and Ronon hadn't been in much shape to do anything more than blindly – and wasn't that a kick in the pants – go along. SG-1 was just unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sheppard felt more than a little bad for dragging them into their emotional baggage, but God, that fight had felt good.

He'd felt alive again. Strong – almost normal. John was surprised that McKay hadn't drawled, in his bad imitation, 'Do you feel lucky, punk?' because he knew that's how they'd both felt. That edge of uncaring 'bring it on' to the world. Recklessness born of being to hell and back; and Nokomis qualified as hell if any place did. Nokomisian society was going to implode, and he was glad they wouldn't be around to see it. Too many societies were making the wrong choices in their fight to outlive the Wraith – yet John had to admit, no one had come up with an idea that held promise. What that said about their odds of defeating the Wraith…

Time was ticking, and John had to pack his own gear, and also Teyla and Ronon's. He had an idea that they'd be beamed from the SGC straight to the Daedalus's infirmary or their quarters. Either way, those two members of his team weren't in any condition to pack their own bags. It'd only be a change of clothes, anyway. They'd known the trip would be short. If it hadn't worked –

Well, according to Elizabeth, they would've been returning on the Daedalus, but Sheppard still had his doubts about that. He was relieved it'd never come down to testing it. As he pulled his uniform from the wire hanger, John had a sudden idea – something to assuage his guilt at causing SG-1 so much trouble. He picked up the phone. "Sergeant?" he asked. When the voice on the other end acknowledged he was there, John continued, "I've got a favor to ask -"


	15. Chapter 15

AN: I made it. Holy crap, I actually MADE it. And if you're reading this, then you did, too. There were times were this story had my fingers freezing above the keyboard in dread, while at other times, banging my head against the desk repeating 'I hate this fic, I hate this fic' over and over again – yes, I actually DID do this, out loud, no less. Then there were times I giggled crazy over comments and thanked God for the others. This story is easily twice the size I'd estimated it to be, and about ten times as meaningful. Something we talked about in the longfic community was how important it is to hear back from the readers when you tackle a project of writing a long story – because it can be draining and difficult (and I know all of you that have done it are out there nodding), so, big big thanks to everyone who took the time to let me know your thoughts. It did make a difference! Thank you to Kylen, gaffer, Linzi and Shelly. Not only did I get the usual help with grammar, but I was told to 'slow down', give more – and they also gave me more than one really good line! The hand-holding and moral support was more appreciated than I can deliver in a simple thank you. And now – the final - yes it's real this time, END!

Edited to fix canon reference to Deadalus trip length, thanks naggingcube!

**Chapter 15:  
Epilogue**

The sounds of the party told John that everyone was having a good time, as he ducked around bodies to get to the table, lifting a glass of wine, before turning to stare at the revelers. He wasn't sure if anyone noticed just how much he was still watching. Eighteen days on the Daedalus hadn't cured his insatiable desire to look. He knew most of the faces, some of them better than others. The rate he was going, someone was going to complain to Elizabeth, and he'd find himself written up for acting like a Peeping Tom.

The trip home had been long, but his team had tried to relax. It was as close to an extended down time as they were ever going to get. When they'd arrived at Atlantis, and beamed down, Elizabeth and Carson had been there to welcome them home. Beckett had politely insisted – and no offense to Carter and her healing device – but he wanted to verify test results for his own peace of mind. Sheppard was almost touched – if he hadn't been so…leery…of more tests. There were some things he just didn't care to know about anymore. The how or what – it didn't matter to him.

But it mattered to Elizabeth, and it mattered to Beckett – so, John and Rodney landed back in the infirmary, undergoing what they both hoped was the last round of scans. Ronon's surgery to remove the pins was scheduled, which meant more down time in the respect that they'd skip off world missions, but Carson had guessed it would only be a week – two tops - till the Runner's incisions healed.

It was after all of that was said and done, Sheppard had seen in McKay's eyes a desperate need to get away from the hovering; the same need he felt himself. For McKay to feel that desperation – it was saying a lot for how affected they'd all been by everything. That was when Elizabeth explained there was a welcome home party that night. Mandatory.

John suspected she saw more than she let on. Knew that all four of them were still nursing wounds inside over what had happened. With wine in hand, Sheppard wandered to the balcony overlooking the gate. Soon, they'd have to go back through – out on a new mission. His team would have to shove away the thoughts of 'what if' when they walked into that wormhole.

What if something worse happened – or didn't. God knows, they'd be expecting it. Looking over their backs, chasing their own shadows. And it wasn't without some irony that he acknowledged it was because of the fact that they'd had no way to prevent or know what'd been coming on Nokomis. Falling through to an underground city? You can think of a hundred scenarios – but you still can't predict everything that can happen.

"Colonel," Beckett greeted softly. "Needed some air?"

The wording, the tone – forced casual. John knew they were being watched like hawks. Everyone was waiting for a break. "If I needed air, I would've gone outside." In truth, he was escaping. A lot of the personnel at the party hadn't had a chance to talk to them before they'd left for the SGC, and some of the comments – he considered them unintentionally stupid. Then again, some of the people were trying their hand at armchair psychiatry.

It was nothing like being faced with the real deal, though, when Heightmeyer finally managed to corner him and asked with intentional bluntness what it felt like to be blind. That's when Sheppard had made an excuse to get a refill on his drink after answering that it was dark. Very dark. The real kicker had been that he knew she was trying to force it with him, because John had already made it clear he didn't want her help. It wasn't that he felt her services were intrusive, awkward and unnecessary – it was that John believed in all three. Kate's forced smile chased him to the drink table where he got a refill. She raised hers in a toast across the room, waiting for him to return the gesture. He didn't oblige. Instead, he'd left, needing to get away from everyone.

"I think Colonel Sheppard is dreaming about his next mission," Elizabeth interjected, joining Carson and John at the rail.

John grimaced. "Colonel Sheppard simply wanted to drink in peace." He wouldn't be telling either one of them the truth.

"And we all know how well drinking ends." Rodney had a drink in his hand as he approached them – a pink drink.

"Is that -" asked John.

"Yes, it's a Shirley Temple – I told you, I'm never drinking again."

Nodding, Sheppard fought to not grin too much. He did remember – he was just surprised that McKay did, too. And he wondered how long this new resolution would last – till New Years?

"Not drinking?" Beckett's forehead wrinkled. The doctor in him knew there was a story behind it, and Carson was never happy not knowing something if it pertained to their health, recent or current.

Deciding to bail Rodney out from having to revisit their experience, John shrugged, taking another sip of his own fruity alcoholic drink. "SG-1 took us to a bar; Ronon, Teyla and McKay had a few beers too many." That's when John noticed the grin on Elizabeth's face, and he had a sinking feeling. "You knew," he accused.

She clasped her hands around her own glass. "I may have been…tipped off as to the events in -" her eyes positively twinkled "- Mike's Pub."

Rodney groaned. "Landry sent a report, didn't he? I knew I should've asked -"

"Asked what?" John interrupted. He tipped his glass McKay's way. "We were screwed the minute you admitted to being the instigator – did you see that look on Landry's face?"

"This is where the party went," Ronon said. He held a large mug of beer, and wiped the froth from his mustache. Teyla walked with him, but she had a drink that looked suspiciously like Rodney's in her hands.

Sheppard shook his head. So much for finding a nice quiet spot to be on his own. "You sure you should be drinking that?" he asked, tipping his head slightly towards the mug. When he could, he'd excuse himself and search out a balcony – outside this time. In fact, fresh air sounded amazingly good.

"Do not tell me, the man got drunk as well," Beckett declared, staring unhappily at Ronon, Teyla and Rodney now. "And you, Colonel – you didn't?"

"Let's just say I was too busy enjoying the good company," John replied amiably. "In fact, I suffered real guilt for dragging SG-1 into a fight."

Carson snorted into his drink, but Elizabeth was nodding – God, she didn't… "They didn't happen to mention anything else in that report?" asked John.

"General Landry did mention something about a favor." She stared at John, openly curious, "But he didn't say what."

Rodney arched an eyebrow at Sheppard. "It was an inspired gift, Elizabeth. Something you wouldn't understand."

"What McKay means to say, is that it's an inside joke." John finished his drink, and suddenly wanted another. He hadn't planned for anyone to find out aside from his team, and he really didn't want to explain. "You needed to be there to appreciate it fully."

"You left them a present?" Elizabeth asked, the mild curiosity now at a level where Sheppard knew he was screwed. What the hell, right?

John smirked. "Let's just say – the force will be with them."

"He got them four Ultimate Light Sabers," crowed McKay.

The surly look on Ronon's face was almost comical as he sniffed. "I saw on the box it can make a double blade. McKay, didn't you say -"

Rodney shook his head rapidly towards Ronon, and lifted a finger behind his ear, pretending to scratch. John pursed his lips and rocked on his feet. "I said, no light sabers. Don't make me sic Beckett on you."

"I agree," Beckett replied faintly. "No light sabers – I'm not a seamstress, and I won't be sewing on body parts when laser testing goes astray. Period."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Just when I think I've heard everything, you four manage to find something else." Her glass was empty now, and John debated on going back to the table to get them both a new glass. That's when his eyes focused on Heightmeyer coming their way.

"If you don't mind -" John started, pushing off the railing.

There were a few confused faces, and Rodney asked, "Where are you going?"

"To use the little airmen's room, McKay – you want to hold my hand?" he interjected the right amount of teasing. John felt the need to get out of there before she arrived. Beckett's narrowed gaze let Sheppard know he wasn't fooled, and as everyone shifted for him to move through, he left the room, hearing Carson say, "Lass – is that Baby Duck?"

Heightmeyer delayed, John bolted. He knew he was going to have to deal with her firmly - later. Tell her he wasn't up for discussion – his experiences. He wasn't going to be a case study for anyone's scientific paper, and he wondered if Rodney hadn't already been hit up by her. Then again, she was probably scared of McKay. He'd probably give her enough fodder for ten papers.

This time John headed for the outside balcony, and not the one directly off the command deck – the one two floors up that was closer to his quarters. Her question echoed in his head. _What's it like to be blind?_

_Dark_, he'd replied stiffly. Dark as night, without any stars to light the way – no sunlight. Just never-ending blackness from morning to night.

He'd never had a break down. Sure, John had gotten mad, tired, angry and resentful – a lot of emotions, even depressed – but he'd never cried, he'd never had the chance to truly let it out. Now, at the end, maybe in a lot of ways it was easier, because it was over. They were home, healed, and safe, and had even been updated on the refugees. Elizabeth hadn't felt comfortable with them joining the Athosians on the mainland, but had helped them set up a colony on a world that had been culled. As creepy as it was, there were buildings and food, established areas and a civilization needing new people to help. And they weren't likely to be culled again anytime soon.

If he was only now letting out the pent up emotions that were overwhelming at times, then he had no one to explain himself to. John was alone, and in the darkness of the night, where no one could see anyway.

"John?"

Sheppard panicked a bit, sniffed like it was just the cold air, and tried to wipe his face with the back of his sleeve. "What's up?" he asked, his voice hoarse, keeping his face towards the water. Over the crashing waves below, he hadn't heard the doors open. The endless water – as far as his eyes could see; the whitecaps, highlighted in the moonlight, the dark sky that was lit by millions and millions of stars.

Teyla stepped nearer, and that's when he realized McKay and Ronon were with her. That hypersensitive hearing had truly faded back to almost normal. Two more weeks, and he'd pass the two month mark. "We were worried when you left so suddenly and did not return."

"It's a long time to be in the bathroom," added McKay, wryly.

Her words were a question – Rodney's an accusation, calling John on his escape, but Sheppard didn't have any answers – least none he was willing to share. The cool night air had rapidly dried any remnants of his emotional release, and John turned to face them. He breathed deep and said, "It's dark out here." He stated it like any other observation made on a mission, but he saw their faces. John knew they got it. Maybe in more ways than he did himself.

The moved forward, and he saw the understanding as they sought a place on the balcony rail. Sheppard turned back to the water, and they watched in silence as a shooting star streaked across the sky. Ronon pointed at it. "Not so dark, though."

"There are stars here," Teyla agreed.

Rodney's jaw tightened. "We'll see the sunrise if we stay long enough."

Was there something magical or right to say at that moment – or maybe they'd all just said what they needed to with those words. John guessed he'd never really know, because all the time in the world together couldn't give him the ability to know what each one of his team was thinking. He was pretty sure that his guess was close. "I'm game," he replied, surprising himself.

Ronon nodded. "Sure. I'm in."

McKay seemed unsure, but finally sighed. "Fine. But I'm getting blankets. It's cold out here and I'm not catching the latest virus and landing in the infirmary, again."

"I will get some hot tea," added Teyla.

"Then it's a date," Sheppard agreed. He smiled, feeling that feeling of everything being right again. The emotions were there – there'd always be echoes, the scars – but they weren't the only things that John had brought out of the experiences from Nokomis. Sometimes it took something bad to make you realize that some things are sometimes more than you think they are. It wasn't just the sun, moon, and stars that lit the way in the sky. Sometimes, people could do the same. John figured as long as he had his team, his world never would truly be dark.

"Four letter word for collaborate," Rodney called over his shoulder. "I expect the answer when I'm back bearing gifts for the sunrise show."

John watched as Teyla split off with Ronon to retrieve the carafe of hot tea, and McKay towards their quarters for blankets. Four letter word for collaborate. He chuckled softly to himself. "Team," he said to the ocean. To the sky. To the world. They were a team.

**The End**


End file.
